The Case of the Stolen Heart
by RianneHime
Summary: AU 1930's In the gritty city Sacae, Detective Guy Kutolah is forced into an assignment with a certain disillusioned Investigator . . . of course, the aforementioned Investigator is enjoying it. MG –shounen-ai-
1. 10:00 am

Well, I know, that with the loss of Amethyst Bubble to wherever she went, it'll be hard to take,  
but, I'm leaving. On Friday, the 25. I'll have the next chapter posted in three weeks, and then   
it's back to my weekly posting schdule, ok?

You know what? I DO own Rekka no Ken. Let's just see you sue me, I got $2.43 in change   
and an old gum wrapper. Bring it on.

Another Guy POV fic. . . I just couldn't resist it when this idea popped into my head.   
Detectives! Trenchcoats! Bowler hats! I have to say, though, I tried to keep this fic serious . . .  
but my sarcastic sense of humor -- which is pretty obvious in my other fics -- decided to take   
over halfway through. So we now have a sarcastic, victimized Guy for a protagonist. Yay, for   
victimized Guy!

Warnings: Eventually, it'll have Matthew/Guy, Raven/Lucius hints (With my beta? A necessity),   
and extremely blatant Legault/Heath hints. Any other couplings . . . are up to you guys.   
(suggestions?) You no likee, you no readee, kapeesh? (And chapters will, to my discomfort,   
be shorter then Don't Get Over It. Don't worry, though. I will make up for this with . . Ta da!   
More and faster chapters.)

---------------------start fic----------------------

The rain pounded on the windows of my office, providing a gloomy sort of backdrop as I   
drummed my fingers dully on my newspaper. I had my head in my arms, my hat and coat on   
the rack in the corner, and was fiddling with my braid with one hand.

Today had been a boring day, with the one slight hiccup of almost spilling coffee and cognac   
on my new blue pinstripe suit. I didn't really care that much about the suit, but it'd be damn   
waste of perfectly good coffee . . . not to mention, it'd stain the desk, and I'd end up having to   
talk to the annoyingly loud secretary to pay for it.

I lifted my head up from the cradle of my arms, took one long look around my cabinet stuffed,  
paper riddled, stuffy cramped office, and then banged my head back down on my desk. This,   
I thought wryly, sucked. One of these day, I'll be out of here. One of these days, I'll be the   
best detective in all Sacae.

.. . . but until then, I'll have to continue playing lackey to Commissioner Rath and the rest of the  
brass in the office. Stupid brass. Never giving me the cases that I know I can take, always   
giving the good ones to the ungrateful bastards down the hall . . ..

I scowled at the hall. Stupid rain. My business is always slow when it rains . . .. I was very,   
extremely bored . . . and kinda hungry, too, my stomach reminded me, but that was besides   
the point . . ..

Truth was, I'd gotten into this line of work for the mystery, the suspense of it all. It had turned   
out to be duller then dirt -- husbands suspicious of cheating wives, lost pets, and missing   
jewelry being the majority of my cases, all of which catered to the sickeningly rich.

So, having tired of private investigating, I broke away from my old office -- and escaped from   
my evil-incarnate boss -- and became a police detective. Where I, to this day, investigated   
murderous wives, runaway pets, and stolen jewelry.

The police also cater to the sickeningly rich. Go figure.

My door -- which through the patterned glass, you could see my name embossed on it --   
opened, and I jerked myself up to attention.

It was a girl. She had long blonde hair, and wore a dark suit, which only served to emphasize   
her wide, darkly lashed eyes and innocent gaze. Most other detectives in the office would kill   
to have a 'dame' such as this walk into their office, which was probably why she'd been sent   
here. The Commissioner had figured out my preferences before I had.

I realized that me judging glance was making her nervous, and I looked back to the papers on   
my desk. "Can I help you, Miss . . .?" I trailed off to prompt her name.

The girl blushed delicately. "It's . . . it's Mr. I'm Mr. Lucius Elimine."

I blinked. Oops . . . should've noticed the flat chest a bit sooner . . . and maybe I gave the   
commissioner too much credit. "Uh, sorry."

"It's fine." Lucius smiled at me generously. "My employer will be here in a moment, we were   
told to speak with you."

"Ok, then," I looked around the office embarrassedly -- I had clients in here all the time, but   
Lucius had something that spoke of a slightly higher class than, well . . . this. I'm not a very neat  
kinda guy. "So . . . you can have a seat, if you want."

"We won't be staying that long," a rough voice cut across. I looked back over to the door; blinked.

I assumed this was the employer, and from the way Lucius hadn't jumped at the cutting bark --   
like I had -- proved it. The clothes he wore said he was pretty well off, AKA loaded. His rusty  
hair had a military sort of cut, and his piercing ruby eyes that told me that he'd have no   
patience for inefficiency. Erm . . . Maybe he was nicer then he looked?

I cleared my throat. "Er . . . Hello. Do you need something, Mr. . . .?"

"Raymond Cornwell, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," The redhead said harshly. I flinched.   
Oook . . . something told me not to tangle with this guy. Not that I'd planned to anyway, of   
course . . . he was a lot bigger then me.

"So . . . Why do you need my skills?" I asked carefully. I leaned back, instinctively making   
myself as small as possible. I wasn't really afraid, but you just don't want to provoke the   
unstable types. And trust me: at first glance, this guy seemed pretty damn unstable.

"My sister's horse has been stolen," Raymond Cornwell said flatly. "I want it found." He was to  
the point, I'll give him that.

"Miss Priscilla . . . " Lucius spoke, "she loved that horse to bits, mostly because Raymond got  
it for her," Lucius elaborated gently. "She's quite distraught over its disappearance."

Ah . . . more lost pets. Well, at least a horse would be easier to find than most other animals.

"Does the horse answer to anything?" I asked as politely as I could. The guy looked like he   
wanted to cut off my head for just looking at Lucius. Needless to say, I liked my head just fine  
where it was, so I tread lightly.

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but . . . "Heart," Raymond cut in gruffly. "She named it   
Heart. It was a roan mare." Raymond glared at me, daring me to ask him any more questions.   
He brought his hand up, and keeping eye contact, put it protectively on Lucius's right shoulder.

Wow, this guy was really possessive . . . so this was the reason Rath had given me this case;  
he knew I'd be open about the pair's poorly veiled, er, 'companionship.' Every other detective  
in the place would've seen the signs and, with a snort of disgust, thrown them out. They were   
just that obvious.

I'd remained quiet too long for Raymond's tastes, it seemed, and he barked, "Well? Are you   
up to the task or not?"

I only took a few seconds to consider. It wasn't my lucky break. It wasn't 'the case to end all   
cases.' Hell, it was barely able to be called a 'case' to begin with . . . it was almost a blow to   
my pride, but my two-year foray in the police business had pretty much made my pride   
invulnerable to all but cheap advances and blatant insults.

But . . . I had bills to pay, and you need money to eat.

There was no choice but to accept.

I couldn't help but bristle, though, at his seeming doubt of my competence. "O-Of course I'm   
up to it!" I shot out reactively. My recoil at his even suggesting it was obvious, and I could   
have shot myself for my lack of professionalism. Well, not like I COULD have shot myself,   
considering I was so scared of my gun I never loaded it . . .. Er, I mean, not really SCARED, I  
just . . . prefer my pocketknife, is all.

I knew I was flushing from embarrassment at this point due to my train of thought, but luckily,   
neither of my aspiring clients were looking at me. They were busy 'communicating' in that way   
that only the annoying sort of obsessed couple can, a weird mix of pleading glances and   
returning nods and frowns. Wow, they were REALLY obvious.

I waited patiently.

Finally, Raymond turned to me and snapped, "Fine," he spat, seeming to have lost his   
nonverbal battle with his partner, "The job is yours."

The pair turned to leave, standing . . . very close. WOW, they were OBVIOUS. I sighed. I   
thought it best, in 'accordance with my duty for the welfare of the public' (which I quoted from   
the plaque on the wall) that I'd better give them some sort of warning. "Hey, you guys?"

Raymond turned sharply, not taking too well to being referred to in such a casual way as 'you   
guy.' I quickly amended my mistake. "I mean, sirs . . . Listen, it'd be best if you two left . . .   
separately, because every one in here is trained to be observant and you two aren't exactly . . .   
um, well, not everyone in here is as forgiving as I about your . . . er, type?" I finished lamely,   
before ducking my head down. Gee, that'd go over well . . . ..

Lucius turned a deep shade of crimson and winced, before giving me a thankful sort of half-  
smile. Raymond's face, however, contorted into an enraged look, and in a bounding step, his   
face was all of a sudden very near mine. "What," he hissed, forcing me to lean back from his   
close proximity, my braid dangling freely, "Are you accusing us of?"

I blinked, and am happy to note that I wasn't all that afraid of the taller, more muscular, more   
powerful man . . . "A-Accuse? You m-make it sound like a crime." . . . but I was still shaken   
up enough to stutter. Grr . . .

Raymond's face was almost unreadable, but his gaze just wasn't as harsh. Apparently, I'd   
made some sort of impression. He didn't stand as close to Lucius -- at least he was smart   
enough to heed a warning -- as he had before.

" . . . " He glanced at Lucius, and gave a curt nod at the door. The employee took the hint, and  
left. Raymond crossed his arms. "So, you're going to do this personally?"

"That IS what I'm paid to do," I pointed out. "Yeah, I am."

He eyed me with a serious look. " . . . Good." He stalked towards the door, just as Rath   
passed. I held my breath as Raymond shoved directly past Rath with the use of a shoulder and   
a scowl. Uh . . .

Rath merely raised an eyebrow, and let it go. Lucky for Raymond. He was a weird guy, not to   
mention slightly crazy; I can't think of many people stupid -- or brave -- enough to just shove   
off the commissioner like that.

He turned to me, and, with a blinking sort of calm, said, " . . . Come."

I jerked up out of my seat, knocking over a box of something, to obey. Why did he want me   
to follow him? I stumbled around my desk, grabbed my hat for luck, and trailed him down the   
hall to -- I gulped -- his office.

I had put my hat back up as I walked in. The commissioner, being the commissioner and all,   
had a larger office then I, but it was still pretty damn tiny. Rath sat at his desk quietly.

I shifted my weight impatiently. I shouldn't have put up my hat; I LIKE my hat. It keeps my   
bangs from sliding over my eyes as much as they like; I brushed them aside in an annoyed   
manner. They flopped back over my eyes.

Rath was staring at me. This was how the commissioner communicated -- an odd mix of   
stares, peppered with the occasional verb. He held eye contact for a few moments more, and   
then gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

See? See what I mean? I was right, wasn't I? I sat, forcing my nervousness down as I shifted   
in my seat. Rath stared some more, and opened his mouth to speak. I perked my ears; he   
never said anything twice. " . . . You'll be working with a partner on this one."

Wait, what? That was the longest sentence I'd ever heard the Commissioner say. That was,  
what, eight, nine words? And then what he had actually said hit me. "W-What?" I swiveled to  
face him incredulously. "M-Me?" Work with a partner? "I, uh . . . sir, you know I don't work   
well with p-partners . . .." I cursed inwardly as I stumbled on the word. (Damn my nervous   
tongue!)

Rath sighed, and looked at me with one his stares. It's well known throughout the building that   
if the Commisioner stared at you long enough, you could actually begin to interpret what he   
was trying to get across to you. Luckily, I didn't have to stand there very long because he   
came right out with it.

"The Cornwells," he enunciated slowly, "are very . . . rich."

I blinked . . .

. . . Ooh, oh man . . . I get what he's saying. I swallow more loudly then I liked, and nodded   
energetically, feeling my braid flap at the nape of my neck. You see, the police building is kept  
running through two things: the government's pitiful pension -- and I don't think that could   
keep a dog alive for very long -- and the more, ah, 'generous' donations of the rich people in   
the area.

While the donations are usually in return for a 'favor,' like the finding of lost rings like I   
mentioned, we could be in very big trouble if the Cornwells told their people we were   
unreliable. They'd go to the West Side department for their 'favor' and take their donations   
with them.

I had successfully interpreted Rath's 'look.' It meant, "Don't screw this up, or it's your head on   
the line." Rath wouldn't put it in so many words -- hell, he hadn't even put it in one -- but I got   
the message real clear.

"Yessir." I got up, and put my hat on as dramatically as possible -- all for my image's sake, of   
course. "Can I ask who'll be my partner?"

"A private investigator," Rath said flatly. I did a double take at him for this. Rath made it a   
matter of pride not to go to the 'mercenary detectives' for help. If he'd actually hired a P.I. to   
help on this, then the Cornwells were richer then I thought . . . and I'd thought they were pretty   
rich to begin with.

Maybe I'd get a bonus . . .

The door opened behind me, and I turned to face the only slightly damp -- it was still raining --   
person who entered. He didn't have a hat on, which struck me as pretty stupid in that weather.  
I couldn't see his face as he shut the door behind him, but the hair was honey colored and   
mussed. The man turned, and flashed me a wide, roguish grin.

Strange. I knew that grin from somewhere before . . . wait, did I . . .

I knew him! My eyes widened. I-I KNEW him! He . . . NO! He wasn't! M-My old boss! T  
-The evil one! Why me?! Why?! Why, why was I still sitting?! RUN, damnit!

I bolted up out of my seat, placing the chair between him and me. My mouth was working   
desperately to get something -- anything at all -- to come out, and all it managed to do was   
squeak, "Y-YOU!"

The newcomer raised an eyebrow, as though not surprised at all by my reaction. "Well, yes, I  
do tend to get that a lot. I am me." He took off his trench coat and placed it nonchalantly on a  
hook near the door, as though he WASN'T ruining my life by waltzing in here. "Commissioner,  
it isn't often you need a man of my talents," he said, sounding almost annoyed. "Don't tell me   
I'm just playing babysitter to some newbie."

. . . N-Newbie? M-Me? WHAT?! That was an insult to my pride! I slammed my fist into the  
desk -- hope I didn't dent it, those government-issued metal things are flimsy -- and burst out  
at him. "W-What are you talking about? Don't you start ignoring me again!"

He turned to me and arched an eyebrow amusedly. "Again? Have we --" he stopped, and   
began to look me over.

That was an awkward moment. I could practically feel his eyes start at my face, and slide   
down the rest of me. The fact that he lingered uncomfortably long in some . . . er . . . areas   
made it worse. My flush -- originally out of anger -- deepened, due to . . . some other cause.

"I know you." His grin widened as his eyes met my face again, no longer merely indifferent. He  
had t-that old . . . LOOK of his that look that made me nervous. He hadn't changed a bit, not  
in the two years since we'd last seen each other.

"It can't be Guy," he drawled slowly, putting an especially long emphasis on my name. Why,   
why was my face getting hotter? "Am I right? So, have you become the best detective in all   
Sacae yet?"

His almost growling voice put the hairs on the back of my neck on end. "Now . . . isn't the best  
time to catch up," I gritted out, managing -- to even my surprise -- not to stutter.

"Ah," His honey eyes glinted to copper. "But why wouldn't I catch up with my favorite ex-  
employee, hmm?" He leaned towards me, and in the close quarters of the office, I instinctively   
leaned back, turning my head aside. Wrong move.

The nimble fingered sneaked reached up and gave my braid -- MY BRAID! -- a swift yank.  
He KNEW I hated that!

I squeaked horrendously -- I squeak a lot around him -- and leaped back, banging into an old   
file cabinet. A pile of paperwork slipped off into the trash bin in the corner from the hit -- hope  
those weren't important -- and I clenched my braid in my fist as I furiously bit out, "D-DON'T   
t-touch the h-hair!"

. . . And the stutter was back. Of course. Why? Why me?

The commissioner cleared his throat with a resounding " . . . " to get our attention. Salvation!   
Rath, thankfully, seemed willing to pity me.

I choked out in as quiet a voice as I could manage -- and it was still pretty loud -- "Why is H  
-HE here?"

" . . . " Rath gave me blank stare. The newcomer was smiling in his evil, pleasant way.

I looked back and forth between the two of them in horror. "Ah . . ." A horrible, horrible   
thought struck me. It couldn't . . . Commissioner Rath couldn't be so cruel, could he? "Oh no .  
. . " I felt my overactive sense of panic rise up, and my voice began to crack embarrassingly.

"I'm not . . . I'm not working with HIM, am I?" I grabbed the front of Rath's coat, giving it a   
shake even feebler then my voice. "Please, please tell me he's n-not my p-partner!"

Rath sighed . . . and said nothing. His silence was accompanied by one of his 'looks,' and I   
didn't really like what that 'look' was telling me. I turned away from the commissioner to look   
at the other man in horror and shock.

Private Investigator Matthew Ostia, tilting his head towards me, gave me an almost feral grin.   
"It will be a pleasure working with you again . . . Detective."

--------------------------------------------------- 

Background, if you don't pay attention to American History (I'm guilty of that): In the 1930's, it  
was the Great Depression. The police force, which Guy is a part of, was riddled with leaks,   
loose caps and bribed cops. They really did cater to the rich.

Also, back then, the car actually wasn't as common as it is now -- about as common as, say,   
owning a pool. Most others in the city used taxis. The incredibly wealthy, as I portrayed Raven  
and Lucius, owned cars and horses. Horses were a sign of wealth -- the wealthier you were, the  
more horses you had.

. . . hmm. Well, if you're still reading this, you liked it enough to review, ne?


	2. 11:15 am

I'm back, if you noticed I was missing! I loved all your reviews -- I was worried at first, I only   
got two reviews when I first posted it, and then I left in utter despair over the fate of my fic. And  
then I came back, and opened my inbox.  
  
And fell over. My thanks especially to Scarabsi -- who was hysterical on my behalf -- and to  
everyone else who liked. I looove reviews . . . they're like marshmallows, only less fluffy.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
"Oooh, Are you out to solve a case? A murder mystery?" Wil, our secretary, leaned forward   
eagerly, shaking his head so his bangs brushed over his eyes. "Was it the butler who dunnit? The  
heir? Ooh, was it that blonde dame who just left?"  
  
I'm pretty sure Lucius wouldn't have liked being called 'that dame' but I wasn't going to push it.  
"No," I said sullenly, still not happy with the grinning Matthew that was following me.  
  
"No?" A pout on his face appeared. "Pity." Wil shook his head even more energetically, before  
grinning up at me again. "What are you doing? Something important?"  
  
Matthew laughed jokingly. "Ohh, yes. Verry important," He flashed a light smile at Wil. Wait, so  
the loud and chatty secretary gets a smile, and I have to deal with his mocking, rakish, fluxingly   
aggravating grin?!  
  
I glared at him. Right . . . important. "We're finding some pampered princess's lost pony," I   
grumbled. "Some . . . some 'Priscilla Cornwell' dame."  
  
Wil's eyes widened. "C-Cornwell? YOU'RE being given the Cornwell case?"  
  
Matthew gave a conspicuous cough, and Wil hastily added, "Er . . . I mean, the Cornwell's . . .   
are, really really important . . . Really, really important people, seriously, they are! And rich!"  
  
Important? Why was I given such an important case, then? I blinked. "B-But . . . shouldn't this   
job have gone to Karel, if they're that important?!"  
  
"Karel?" Wil looked startled. "I . . . think he got suspended." I gave him a look, asking an   
unspoken question. Wil answered it. "Yeah, suspended again. He ALWAYS claims it's for self-  
defense, but . . ." His look of unease was unfeigned. "No one can ever PROVE it . . ."  
  
I coughed, and leaned forward. "What about Lyn? I'm pretty sure she hasn't gotten suspended   
for anything . . ." Lyn was rational, and I admired her. Like, a friend, I mean, not like THAT.  
  
Wil started. "Er . . ." I stifled a reaction as, to my surprise, Wil's grin turned mischievous. "She   
kinda . . ." He made odd flapping gestures with his hands, and I tilted my head to convey my   
confusion. He shook his head and said bluntly, "she, well, eloped." Oh. "Last night, they found a  
note on her desk explaining why she wouldn't be at work for a bit."  
  
Ok then, that explained Lyn . . . "Good for her, I guess . . . but where's Eliwood?" Eliwood was  
just as good, if not better, then Lyndis.  
  
Wil's grin grew wider. "He's with Lyn."  
  
". . . oh." I blinked, and then it really hit me. "OH. Well, good for him, too . . .."  
  
Wil sighed dreamily. "Yeah," he rested his chin on his folded hands, glancing blissfully at the   
chalk ceiling. "It's great they finally figured it out."  
  
I snorted. "With your help, right?" I muttered. Wil was the most disorganized and useless   
secretary in the world, let me tell you, but the one thing he DID do right was play matchmaker. I  
hadn't been one of his pawns yet, but I'd heard a few stories, involving closets and closed spaces.  
  
I sighed and stuck my hands into my pockets, kicking Wil's desk leg half-heartedly.  
  
Damn it. The commissioner hadn't given me this job because of my skill, or even for my open   
mind. It was because I was the only reasonably competent idiot LEFT. Gee, it's nice to be a last  
resort . . .  
  
And Matthew, damn his perceptiveness, seemed to have caught onto my train of thought.   
"Aww, Guy," he tutted, forcing me to swivel my head to watch his eyes seemingly swirl   
amusedly. "You're still trying too hard, aren't you?"  
  
The emphasis he put on 'still' was probably just my imagination, but I really didn't like being   
reminded that I knew him. Matthew wasn't the most stunningly likeable person I'd ever met.   
You either had to love him or hate him; that was just his personality. You had to choose.  
  
Guess which I picked.  
  
" . . . Fiend," I hissed at him. "What drives you to hold such a grudge against me?!"  
  
Damn his evil, loathsome grin! "I don't hold grudges, Guy," He said light tone. "Why would I   
hold a grudge against you?"  
  
"DUH!" I shrieked. "I k-kind of, you know, L-LEFT you?"  
  
"With no notice, yes," Matthew agreed jovially. J-Jovially?! He's not supposed to be . . . jovial!   
He's s-supposed to be wretchedly depressed at m-my not being there! Not that I c-care, or   
anything, but . . .  
  
"I kinda left for a reason you know!" I tried not to spit it out too hurriedly, attempting to curb my  
stutter. "Y-You're not supposed to be here!"  
  
"Well, I'm here now anyway, aren't I?" Matthew sniffed. "And . . . did you have hazelnut coffee   
this morning?"  
  
How the hell'd he know that? Matthew's eyes were a lot closer then they were before. Blinking,   
I realized that in our, er, difference of opinion, we'd ended up nose to nose. Well, not really;   
since I wasn't tall enough to do that, I was sort of glaring up at him from very close to his collar.  
He was just looking down at me amusedly.  
  
"Wait a sec;" A voice cut in curiously. I glared to my right at Wil. Wil was gnawing his lip   
confusedly. "I mean, maybe I'm not seeing the whole thing right, which happens a lot but, did   
you two used to . . . " He trailed off, taking an eyeing note of my close proximity to Matthew.   
He coughed.  
  
I stumbled back from Matthew as I choked. How dare he even THINK that! Me, and . . . me,   
and MATTHEW! Like that!? No! "NO!" I shook my head vehemently. "I WORKED for him!"  
  
"Ooooh, okay." Wil nodded. "I get it, now." He waved his hand dismissively, and then leaned   
forward, resting his chin on interlaced fingers attentively. "Go on, don't let me stop you, this is   
fun to watch."  
  
I'd been interrupted mid argument, so I just glared at Matthew and muttered a sullen insult. It   
was pretty creative, too, with vast use of my refined and extensive vocabulary. " . . . Sneaky   
bastard."  
  
Matthew's face was surprisingly serious as he frowned at me. What, he suddenly decided to   
take offense? I insulted him all the time two years ago, and he never seemed to care.  
  
"You know," Matthew murmured, leaning in closer. I tried to step back, but hit Wil's desk.   
Amber eyes inspected mine thoughtfully for a moment, and I felt my face grow warm as he   
leaned to make his eyes level with mine. " . . . You're making a bigger deal out of it then I am.   
Tell me," his eyes glittered as a familiar grin grew slowly on his face, "Guy. Are you feeling . . .   
guilty?"  
  
The blood that rushed to my face was enough of an answer. D-Damn him. . . he was r-right. As  
usual. I DID feel guilty, and as a result, my tone immediately went defensive.  
  
"S-So what if I'm feeling guilty?" I shot back. "I've got a r-right to!" I slid to the left from under   
Matthew's far-too-close self, towards the door.  
  
Matthew leaned back with a smirk. "Of course, Guy." He yawned. "My taxi's waiting, and I left  
my hat in there, so let's hurry up, shall we?"  
  
I gaped at him. I'd pretty much gone out and shouted an a-apology in his EAR a-and all he did   
was . . . s-sit there, a-and SMIRK. Like that! See?! He was doing it again, right in front of me!   
Smirking at me! Fiend!  
  
I didn't voice any of this, though. I've got a bit more control than that (Not to mention, it'd give   
him a weeks worth of verbal ammo). I stalked past him with a growl.  
  
"Wait, Guy!"  
  
I jerked back, giving Wil a less concentrated version of my glare. How dare he ruin my   
infuriated exit? Couldn't he see I was trying to stomp out the door so I could slam it back into   
Matthew's nose? Matthew grinned as he walked past me, to reach the door first.  
  
Wil reached under his desk and tossed me a nondescript black umbrella. "It's really coming   
down out there," he warned in his cheerful tone. Why, why did we have such a tactless   
secretary!?  
  
I caught the umbrella in one hand and clenched it in my fist. Maybe I could use it to whack   
Matthew with . . . no, too convenient. Nothing that satisfying could ever be that easy; Matthew'd  
end up winning any 'sparring matches' (so he called them) we might have, damn him.  
  
Matthew, in typical arrogant form, opened the door for me with a cheery grin. What was he   
trying to pull, looking all charming and gentlemanly, holding the door for me!? He didn't have   
anyone here to impress. I grumbled as I edged through, keeping Matthew in the corner of my   
eye.  
  
Pausing in the entryway, I shook open the umbrella. It wasn't very large. Heh, Matthew couldn't   
fit under it with me, not unless he decided to squish in against me. I was pretty sure that he   
wouldn't want to, not the way he antagonized me. He'd rather get --  
  
My thoughts were cut off as I felt Matthew grab the umbrella handle as well, and pull it towards   
him. Unwilling to get wet, I was pulled along with it, and was yanked into Matthew. The   
umbrella was too small for us to split apart much farther.  
  
Matthew . . . was very warm against my side.  
  
There weren't many options. I could shove Matthew away, but since he'd gotten a pretty firm   
grip on the handle himself, he'd probably take the umbrella with him. Or, I could willingly get   
wet, but that'd result in my hair getting soaked. I was pretty fond of my hair -- especially when it  
was dry. Or, I considered, as a last resort, I could stand Matthew's (warm!) proximity until we   
reached the taxi.  
  
Did I mention, Matthew was warm?  
  
Well, I guess if I could mooch off his body heat as a result of it, it wouldn't be that bad . . . I   
gripped the umbrella tighter, pulling it closer, and Matthew moved with it.  
  
Mmm . . . warm. I was colder then I thought, I guess, for me to like the warmth so much. It was  
actually soft, to, and if I pressed into it it surrounded me more. I could feel it from below my   
cheek, and rubbed my nose against it. Inhaling deeply, I thought vaguely that the fact that it   
smelled like evergreen and sandalwood was just a plus.  
  
"Guy . . ." I heard lowly in my ear.  
  
"Hmm?" I half muttered, half moaned softly. I felt the warmth's breath hitch.  
  
"We're . . . at the taxi." Was that voice hoarse? I opened my eyes, blinked twice, and looked up  
lazily at Matthew's unreadable face.  
  
. . . Oh, crap. I'd ended up, in my temporary stupor, with my face half-nuzzled against his   
shoulder, both hands clenched around the umbrella -- which Matthew was holding very close to   
himself -- and the rest of me leaning against him.  
  
The taxi door had -- luckily -- already been opened, and I literally threw myself at it in my   
desperation to escape. I bolted into the taxi, clambering to the other side of the backseat. The   
leather cushions were freezing, and the stark contrast of the cold compared to, ah, earlier, was   
noticeable.  
  
I looked firmly out the window as Matthew got in next to me. Don't look at him don't look at   
him don't look at him don't look at ME don't look--  
  
"So . . . where are we going?" I almost jerked when his words hit me. I ran a few ideas through   
my head, and after few moments consideration, said warily, "424 Curry Cross Lane, for now." I  
frowned. "We'll have to visit the Cornwell House tomorrow, since that Raymond guy seemed   
like he'd be busy today."  
  
I blinked at the window. I could see Matthew's reflection scratch his chin bemusedly. "It seems   
you've not improved since we parted ways."  
  
I bristled. "Of course I have!" I snapped, my anger not hitting him full force since I wasn't ready   
yet to face him.  
  
The cabby had picked up the address from our conversation, and the car jolted forward. I   
reached out absentmindedly to pull down the privacy screen.  
  
"You would never have turned your back near me two years ago," Matthew's voice had a   
speculating sound. "I'll have to fix this."  
  
I furrowed my brows in consternation, watching his oddly serious face, before twitching. "My   
back's to you, but I can still see you. You have a reflection."  
  
A mocking lilt took his tone. "Can't stand to look away from me, hmm?"  
  
I jerked to face him, a mistake in the close space. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not working   
with you because I want to!" I retorted hotly. "You didn't seem so willing to be rid of me   
earlier...!"   
  
The demonic grin reappeared in full. "Are you always so cuddly?"  
  
I flushed deeply at the reminder of the 'umbrella incident.' H-Hey, it wasn't like I'd m-meant to   
do that. A-And, to M-Matthew, of all p-people!  
  
"Y-You were warm!" I protested in immediate reaction, before catching my words. My blush   
deepened. Sure, just GIVE the guy enough verbal weaponry to kill a horse. See if your pride   
cares.  
  
Matthew's eyebrow went up. "Were you cold? ARE you cold, Guy?"  
  
I blinked. That was an unexpected question. "Er . . ." Well . . . "Kinda, I guess. My coat isn't all   
that great . . ."  
  
Matthew leaned towards me with a suddenly wide grin. He was uncomfortably close to my face  
at this point. " . . . I can think of plenty of ways to . . . warm you up," he purred. His tone caused  
my eyes to widen.  
  
I didn't really get what he was saying, but I had a feeling it was something to do with his usual   
teasing. Apparently, I was supposed to react, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be   
reacting to . . .  
  
I blinked my eyes back to normal size. Stick to what you're good at -- being honest. "Er . . .   
How?"  
  
Matthew blinked back. He stayed frozen for a moment, before giving a small sigh and sliding   
back to his side of the taxi. I watched uncertainly as he took off his jacket and -- I squawked --  
slung it over my shoulders.  
  
In total honesty, I MEANT to throw the thing back in his face and tell him -- loudly -- that I   
didn't NEED his 'charity warmth.' But, somewhere along the way, it turned into me   
unconsciously snuggling deeper against the evergreen scented cloth. I didn't even realize I was   
doing it until I caught Matthew smirking in the corner of my eye.  
  
I grumbled incoherently at him, and he flashed a toothsome grin before speaking.  
  
"So, what's at this '424 Curry Cross Lane' of yours, anyway?" he asked mildly.  
  
I frowned. "A friend of mine, but in this case, a contact." I shrugged. "It's the wealthy side of   
town, with plenty of horses. They might be able to help me since," I hesitated. "I don't know   
much about the things."  
  
"Me either," Matthew said genially. "I don't usually like rich people that much; is your friend   
very . . ." he frowned, looking for a word.  
  
I smiled, which I don't do often, and leaned back. Matthew observed my actions warily. "Louise  
isn't anything bad," I assured Matthew lightly.  
  
Matthew jerked sharply back.  
  
What? What was wrong with the name Louise? I scowled at him. "And just so you know, she's  
NOT used to" -- arrogant bastards. -- "you. Don't . . ." I waved my hand vaguely in the air,   
trying to convey disgust but probably just looking stupid. " . . . Don't be yourself, OK?"  
  
The taxi jolted as Matthew blinked at me, face oddly blank at my statement. " . . . She? Your   
contact . . . is a dame?"  
  
"She's not JUST a dame!" I growled in her defense. "Louise is one of the best people I know!"  
  
"Ah . . .." Matthew paused and -- my god, it's a miracle -- fell silent. What, no more snide   
remarks? I scowled. Was I suddenly not good enough for him?  
  
Crossing my arms, I frowned sullenly out the window. Not t-that I was pouting . . . I-I wouldn't   
pout over anything to do with that infuriating Matthew . . . or would I?  
  
. . . Let's ignore that question for now.  
  
The rest of the ride was quiet until the cabby's noisome declaration of our arrival -- and I had to  
pay him, since Matthew had conveniently left the car first.  
  
I looked up at the familiar house. It was Victorian-esque, actually a gift to Pent and Louise from  
the Head of their university. Lord Pent was a successful professor there, largely aided to that   
status by his wife.  
  
Matthew, too, looked up at the house, but with none of my ease.  
  
"This place is a bit too . . . " Matthew frowned at the elaborate copper chasing on the  
doorframe. I shrugged.  
  
"They get their money from the University. It's . . ." I reached and pounded the doorknocker as  
I spoke. "They're not really like most rich people."  
  
"I figured that," he said almost numbly, "considering that they're willing to . . . deal with you."  
  
I rolled my eyes. That was a pretty lame barb. I didn't even jump at it. With a small shrug, I   
stepped back. I guess Matthew wasn't the type to know people like Louise and Pent.  
  
The door open widely to reveal a cleanly dressed butler, who blinked at me. "Sirs?"  
  
I winced. "Erk, look, I know you don't like the whole 'sir' act, so . . . just drop it."  
  
Erk shook his head, his violet hair falling in front of his eyes. He brushed it back curtly. "Yes,  
yes . . . I know, but you've brought company. Appearances, and all that."  
  
"Not necessary," I shook my coat off before Erk got a chance to take it, hanging it beside the   
door. "Not with Matthew, anyway."  
  
Matthew noticeably stiffened as Erk gave him a cursory inspection, but Erk just snorted. "Lady   
Louise is going to be thrilled at the chance to stuff a new guest with her cooking."  
  
I hung my hat and turned back towards Matthew. He had mimicked my actions, and was now   
standing nervously near the side of the room. I could tell that he wasn't exactly comfortable in his  
surroundings, and (damn my good nature) I tried to make it easier on him.  
  
"Listen, just follow my lead, OK?" I muttered, standing next to him. "Louise doesn't tend to   
judge."  
  
Erk has good hearing, and his wry sarcastic snort at my comment startled me. "Don't worry,   
anyone Guy brings, Louise is bound to love instantly." He turned to face me, gesturing me to   
follow. "She's got a soft spot concerning you."  
  
I coughed. Matthew glowered. Erk raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Right . . . follow me." I didn't really need to be led upstairs, I knew my way around, but since   
there was 'company' -- I shot a look at Matthew -- Erk wasn't about to leave us be. Wise   
choice, Matthew'd probably get into the silver otherwise.  
  
He dropped us off in the tearoom and told us Louise would be there shortly. I didn't have to   
look around, but Matthew frowned at the semi-luxurious surroundings with a vague sense of   
distrust.  
  
"Guy," Matthew ground out, "We aren't staying long, right?"  
  
The way he said it made it more of a command then a question. I shook my head. "We won't be  
here long, just long enough to ask permission to see the stables."  
  
"Guy!"  
  
I turned in time to catch the warm hug I was being enveloped in. I couldn't help the small smile  
that spread on my lips. "Louise, hello."  
  
Louise broke the hug, but not the embrace, holding me at arms length. "You just came   
yesterday, you never visit twice in a row like this!" She gave me a playful smile. "You want   
something, don't you?"  
  
I shook my head. "Guilty. I'm on a case, and I thought you could help."  
  
Louise's eyes widened as she stepped back. "A case? Oh, so it's business?"  
  
"Yup," I nodded, and Louise then looked behind me, where Matthew was standing.  
  
I blinked. "What? Oh, right." I cleared my throat. "Louise, this is Matthew Ostia, my partner.  
Matthew, this is Louise Etruria."  
  
Matthew was very serious, and kinda stiff, as he stepped forward and offered his hand.   
"Pleasure to meet you." He didn't sound very sincere, and as they shook hands I could see that   
his grip was a bit too tight.  
  
I elbowed Matthew and gave him a warning glare. He rolled his eyes and leaned back, crossing   
his arms impatiently. He intently looked me, his expression clearly saying that his civility wasn't   
required.  
  
Louise isn't stupid. She saw the not-so-civil look I passed Matthew in return, and coughed   
delicately. "Why don't you two . . . chat, while I go get you some coffee?" she offered with a   
mild look.  
  
I tilted my head towards her with returning smile. "That'd be great, Louise. And Matthew and I   
will . . . chat," I spat out the last word with a pointed glare at my partner. Louise backed out the  
door. Slowly.  
  
"Matthew!" I hissed, the second she was out of earshot. "What are you doing?!"  
  
"Nothing!" he hissed back testily. Testily? Nothing I knew of got on Matthew's nerves. What   
was his problem?!  
  
That was a good question, actually. "What's your problem?!" I demanded.  
  
Matthew's eyes glittered as he jerked his face closer to mine. "We're on a CASE, NOT making   
social calls to our girlfriend's houses!"  
  
G-Girlfriend? Louise? "W-What?!" He thought Louise and I were . . . involved? . . . I mean,   
Louise was pretty, but . . . she was like my mother. I shook my head fervently, my braid   
swinging around over my shoulders, eyes wide.  
  
"No, no no no no!" I denied hastily, wondering why I was so desperate to get my point across   
to Matthew. "Louise and I . . . we aren't like that. She's . . . not my type." Very true. "Besides,   
Lord Pent would kill me." Even more true.  
  
At that, Matthew blinked, and looked around the room as though checking to see if anyone had   
been watching. He turned back to me, hesitantly. "Lord Pent?"  
  
"Her HUSBAND. Related to some English noble," I emphasized with only slightly nervous   
gestures.  
  
"Oh . . ." Well, at least Matthew had the grace to look sheepish about it. I'd worked with him   
for over a year (to my dismay), and I knew he usually treated women with respect -- when he   
wasn't wheedling information out of them with his roguish charm.  
  
Just now . . . he hadn't.  
  
"Louise is a lady!" I said hotly. "W-What the hell were you d-doing there?" H-He'd just . . .   
He'd just automatically treated L-Louise l-like GARBAGE! I sucked in a breath to start a new   
barrage of insults.  
  
My anger was instantly and mysteriously quelled by the almost gentle tone Matthew asked his   
next question. "You seem protective of her," he noted softly, "How do you two know each   
other?"  
  
I considered briefly to not answer out of spite, but surprisingly -- to me, anyway -- I sighed, and  
sunk into the nearest chair almost wearily.  
  
"When I was starting out," I started slowly, "I got a case, from Louise. She wasn't yet engaged,   
but obviously infatuated with Pent, and trying to help him find some book. I was hired for   
assistance . . . We talked a lot, and . . .."  
  
I fell into silence for a minute. Louise had hired me because, according to her, she'd liked my   
hair. I hadn't cut it since, even though it'd be wiser in my line of business to go with a more   
trimmed look.  
  
"She's become the closest thing to a mother . . . " I said softly, with a tilt to my head. I   
swallowed, not having intended to say that much aloud. I hastily finished with a abrupt, "I've ever  
had."  
  
Why was I telling Matthew all this? It wasn't like I HAD to explain things. I certainly didn't have   
to mention my mother, least of all to him. I mean . . . I shook my head.  
  
Matthew sat on a couch across from me. "What happened to your real mother? Dead?" Came   
the predictable question.  
  
I don't want to think about her. "N-no, she's . . ." I stiffened. Don't r-really want to think about   
her, a-at all. " . . . s-still b-back home."  
  
"Oh . . ." Matthew trailed off slowly. I was surprised. Usually, once he found a subject that   
made me uncomfortable, he'd press it until I either stuttered myself into a hole (extremely likely)  
or attacked him (also extremely likely).  
  
"It doesn't matter," I said sharply, almost determinedly. "Louise is the kindest and most sensitive  
woman I know, like I said. She's got a strong mind and a good heart, and I'd choose her over   
my . . . my real m-mother, any day."  
  
Matthew, to my shock, grinned widely. His eyes practically sang, 'I know something you don't   
know.' "Ah," he purred. I narrowed my eyes. He knew something, didn't he, but . . . what?   
What, what, what could he --  
  
I heard a feminine clearing of the throat. I jerked my head up, and damn my overactive blush!   
Louise stood in the doorway, holding a small tray, smiling softly. It's not like it mattered that she   
heard me, since it was complimentary, but . . . I-I'd never t-told her anything about how well I   
thought of her.  
  
Matthew was -- d-damn him! -- still grinning. I cleared my throat. "H-How long have you b-  
been there?" I asked nervously.  
  
"Since you were telling him how we met," Louise said lightly, putting the tray down on the small  
table in front of us. Matthew's grin widened, as did my eyes.  
  
"Y-you knew she was t-there!" I accused him in a slightly too loud voice. "Y-You . . .you . . ." I   
couldn't call him anything I'd normally call him. Louise was there. Just my luck.  
  
Matthew leaned forward, flashing one of his . . . more charming smiles, directed more at Louise  
then at me. Of course. He never SMILED at ME, all I got was that goddamned GRIN. "Every   
beautiful woman deserves to be praised," he chanted.  
  
What the hell? He thinks she's my girlfriend, and he hates her. I tell him she's married, and he's   
all over her! I scowled at him. "You DID hear the part where I mentioned her HUSBAND,   
right?"  
  
He grinned at me. "Perfectly."  
  
I lifted one of the proffered coffee's to my lips before realizing Louise's eyes were lit with humor.  
"Your friend is such a scoundrel, Guy. I'm surprised you trust him so much."  
  
I choked, mouth too full of coffee to hurriedly deny it. Me, trust him? Louise went on, oblivious   
to my discomfort, addressing Matthew. "There's not many people Guy trusts well enough to   
mention his mother to. It's obvious by the way he acts around you; normally he'd be jumping at   
small noises, reaching for his blade."  
  
I was blushing again, wasn't I? Maybe I should fill in a few facts: like, say, the fact that my   
switchblade was a gift from Matthew, the fact that Matthew had taught me how to use it, and   
the fact that every time I tried to use it ON Matthew, I ended up on the ground, eating dust.  
  
Hmph. I'd beat him at that some day.  
  
But, Louise had a point. It was kinda useless around Matthew to be as careful about stuff as I   
usually was, since Matthew (damn him) picked up on sounds and such before me, and was a far  
better handler of fights. I didn't so much trust Matthew to watch my back as much as I . . . well,   
ok yeah, I did trust him to watch my back, but it wasn't like I trusted him with anything else.  
  
But unfortunately for me, Louise didn't know that I hated Matthew (damn him!) with the fiery,   
fiery vengeance of a thousand suns, and Matthew (DAMN him!) was smirking. "Rreeally, now,"  
he drew out the 'r' as his eyes flashed. Matthew turned to me amusedly, his grin returning full-  
force, "I had no idea that you were so . . . jumpy, without me around, Guy."  
  
I muttered, scratching my nose, "Yeah, well . . ." Why? Why, why, why was my heart deciding   
this was an appropriate time to play "The Flight of the Bumblebee"?! On speed?!  
  
Quick quick quick, change the subject! I shook my still-blushing head. "L-Louise, we're on a   
case, so . . . if we can cut down on the small talk . . .."  
  
"Oh!" She clapped her hands together lightly. "Of course, I'd forgotten. What do you need?"   
She gestured widely. "If you need to use the library like last time, I'm sure Pent won't mind."  
  
"Nope." I shook my head. "I was hoping to talk with the people who keep your stables; this   
case . . ." is embarrassing. But, let's not tell Louise that. ". . . involves horses, and I don't know   
much about horses."  
  
Matthew spoke up. "I've never handled a horse in my life."  
  
I was kinda surprised that Matthew would bring up attention to his . . . er, lack of considerable   
wealth. He usually tries to blend with his surroundings, and he's always done that pretty well.  
  
Lady Louise nodded. "Of course. I can't help you there, since I am not knowledgeable on that   
subject either . . ." She frowned at that, her perfectionist side disapproving of her lack of   
knowledge. "I'll have Erk escort you down, if he isn't . . . well, talking to Serra."  
  
I snickered. Erk 'talking to Serra' was roughly translatable to Erk 'having his eardrums blasted   
open by Serra shrieking strings of commands.' Matthew looked at me in question, and I   
explained this to him -- in exactly those words.  
  
Our hostess sighed. "Poor Erk." She yanked the bell-pull.  
  
A moment later, not Erk, but the maid burst in. "Oooh, Lady Louise, what?"  
  
"Please lead our guests to the stables," Louise said hesitantly.  
  
Serra scarcely listened. Her eyes ran over the room, and found me. Oh no.  
  
Coming within her line of sight wasn't a brilliant idea, since it seemed that Erk wasn't an available  
distraction. "GUY!" Serra shrieked, running over to me, yanking me up, and glomping me in the  
same motion. No, no I'm not sure if it's physically possible, but she managed. "Erky, he SAID   
we had guests, but it's only you!!"  
  
Only me? I disentangled her, panting for breath. "S-Serra . . ." I jabbed a finger at Matthew.   
"This is Matthew," I sucked in a long breath, as Serra's attention was switched long enough for  
me to do so, "my partner."  
  
Matthew was looking at Serra in an odd mix of astonishment, dislike, and bewilderment. Serra   
giggled, and leaned closer to me, whispering. "Look, he's fallen to my womanly charms already!  
He's positively drooling!"  
  
I coughed. Riiight. You go ahead and think that, Serra. I was pretty sure Serra wasn't the type  
that Matthew went after. Wonder what type he does go after . . . no, no no! No, I don't   
wonder! I don't care what type Matthew goes after!  
  
I nodded seriously at her. "I wouldn't press him, Serra," I whispered sarcastically, "he might just   
lose control and jump you on the spot." I only speak the truth, and it was all how you interpreted  
the word 'jump.'  
  
She wrapped her arm around my neck for better access to my ear. Serra was completely   
oblivious to my sarcasm, completely oblivious to Matthew's growing distaste, and completely   
overcome with giggles. "It's a curse," she drawled, "having this affect over men!"  
  
It's a curse having to listen to her this long . . . I pried her off of me as she began cooing. Loudly.  
Both Louise and Matthew could hear her supposed 'quiet voice,' since she was no longer   
whispering.  
  
"Oooh, you're so lucky! You work with him?" She jabbered as I tugged fitfully at her sleeve. "I   
mean, WOW! He's got gorgeous eyes!" I froze. Er, what? I sneaked a look. They weren't all   
they great. Kind of a slanted amber-ish gold . . . Unique, yeah . . .  
  
"And that dashing, roguish smile!" Smile? What smile? All I saw was that hell-bent grin. I guess if  
you wanted, you could call it dashing, or roguish, but . . .  
  
"And those terrific muscles!" I coughed, either from her comment or her crushing grip. Muscles?  
Yeah, but they weren't so terrific when being used to pin me to the ground . . . or maybe they   
were . . ..  
  
Serra yanked my arm and continued to jabber as we went down the hall. Waving a cut off   
good-bye, I stumbled ungracefully as I tried my best to neither fall flat on my face nor fall flat on  
Serra.  
  
"You know," she addressed Matthew loudly as he followed, "with Guy, I made really clear   
when we met, we could only ever be just friends. He's been really true to his word, he's so   
HONEST!" I tried not to squirm as she hauled me along. I think she dislocated my shoulder.   
"He never lies, do you, Guy?"  
  
I wiggled my shoulder a bit. No, not dislocated, but the numbness was a sign that the blood flow  
wasn't in great shape. "Er, nope . . . " I answered desperately, trying to shake her off. Serra was  
detrimental to my health -- both physical and mental.  
  
I couldn't see Matthew, but I did hear his reply. "I know." Hey, he said that like it was his   
BUSINESS to know! And it wasn't! That arrogant bastard! "He's TOO honest, for our line of   
work."  
  
I couldn't pant out a reply, as I lost all my wind when Serra jerked me around the corner.   
"We're here!!"  
  
I focused my eyes blearily. The stable . . . ah, yeah, I could smell it now, phew . . . it was pretty   
closed in. Hay and straw were piled against the wooden slat sides, and I could see the brown   
and roan beasts in their places.  
  
Serra wiped her skirt in what she probably thought was a prim manner, but it ended up looking   
spastic. "Sain and Kent aren't here, I don't think, but I'm sure you two can find something to do  
until they get here! See you later, Okay?"  
  
And then she flounced out the door, leaving me to tend to my wounds as quickly as she'd leaped  
up to create them.  
  
I cradled my arm. " . . . Ow." I caught my breath in heavy swallows. "That was . . . painful."  
  
Matthew rubbed his ear. "I agree." He glanced around us at our surroundings, and raised an   
eyebrow, looking at me. A slow, carnivorous grin began to spread across his face.  
  
I tilted my head. "What?"  
  
His grin widened to a point where I was uneasy just contemplating what thoughts it might be  
hiding. "We're in a stable." He leaned forward, his eyes taking on a strange golden glow.   
"Alone."  
  
. . . I didn't really get what he was trying to say, but something . . . something about his eyes . . .  
  
----------------------------------------  
  
Look! Cliffie!  
  
I had too much fun with characterizations in this chapter (Erk's a butler!). If you've seen the   
Louise and Guy supports, it involves a conversation about Guy's mother, and how Guy doesn't  
think about her much. (I figured this might have something to do with why Guy left his tribe.) In   
any case, I could easily see Louise taking on a motherly role to Guy.  
  
(Heh . . . I made Pent British, too . . . I worked myself into giggles imagining Pent saying   
something like "Bloody 'ell!" or "Bollucks!")  
  
And while I enjoyed your comments on my 'research' . . . I didn't really research at all. I just   
kind of fired questions at my Dad, the humanoid reference section.


	3. 12:30 pm

You know, I knew that everyone had a favorite stories list, but what I   
didn't know until I took a close look at the profiles recently is that we   
can LOOK at other people's lists . . . I was unaware of this, so I spent   
about an hour running through the FE section's many author's profiles to see   
how many lists I was on.

. . . Wow. I mean, WOW. Thank you, everyone!! (And now, we continue the   
scheduled . . . session, between Matthew and Guy. Woot.)

--------------------------------------

I swallowed. "Er . . . Matthew . . . What . . ." I paused as Matthew took a   
step towards me. ". . .are you d-doing?"

Matthew paused in his tracks. "That depends," He said slowly, his grin   
lightening to mischivious. "What do you think I'm doing?" He took another   
step forward.

I thought about it for a minute, struggling to think around my pounding   
heart and head. Oh god, why wasn't I moving back? Oh, right. There's a wall   
behind me. Figures. What DID I think he was doing? I don't think I want to   
know, but it was making my head fuzzy.

Matthew's eyes were glowing. Now I could beging to see what Serra had meant   
about his eyes -- sure, I'd had to deal with them alot a year ago, but I'd   
never actually LOOKED at them. They seemed to say to me, 'I know exactly   
what I you want, and have so much more.'

"Stop," I said hesitantly. Matthew's grin faltered, but he asked genially,   
"Why?"

W-Why? Think think think . . . Why did I want him to stop? But, with the   
fuzzy state of mind I was in, thinking was really almost too much to ask. I   
fell back on what I was best at -- being honest. "You're making it hard to   
c-concentrate, t-that's why!" Was that . . . panic, I sensed in my voice?

Matthew's face turned into the picture of innocence, but he couldn't keep an   
almost invisible (triumphant?) glitter from his eyes. "But Guy," he spoke   
plaintively, "That's entirely the poin --"

"Excuse me, you aren't supposed to be here."

YES!! An interruption! Jesus did love me after all. I swiveled, to see Kent   
in the entryway, his casual and slightly mussed clothes at odds with his red   
hair and indignant expression. "What are you doing here?" He demanded   
curtly, at Matthew. Oops, Kent couldn't see me against the wall.

I collected my wits enough to get out a sentence stutter free. "He's with   
me, relax," I said aloud, my tone shockingly steady.

I didn't know Kent as well as I knew Erk and Serra, but we were on a first   
name basis and had a somewhat healthy respect for each other. Kent didn't   
seem extraordinarily happy at the idea of strangers in his domain, but I   
made a helpless sort of gesture to pacify him. "I need to ask you and Sain a   
few questions, is all," I explained.

Kent nodded. "Oh." he cleared his throat, visibly relaxing. "Sain'll   
probably take awhile to get here . . . I go make him hurry up. You and Mr .   
. ." he darted a questioning look at Matthew.

Matthew smiled one of his most winning smiles -- again, everyone but me gets   
the smile -- and said lightly, "Matthew Ostia, Private Investagator. Nice to   
meet you."

Kent then let his considerable amount of common sense show as he only gave   
Matthew a suspicious, cusory once-over. " . . . Right. Guy, you and Mr.   
Ostia can wait here for a bit, can't you?"

"Of course," my partner chirped. Matthew was far, far too cheerful. I,   
unfortunately, knew Matthew. Cheerful Matthew meant Matthew was severly   
annoyed at something, apparently Kent for some reason. (I decided not to   
ponder on this.) Even at this affirmation, though, Kent didn't move, and   
looked to me.

Kent was snubbing Matthew? Interesting thought, although for some reason it   
didn't sit as well with me as it should have. I gave my agreement to Kent,   
with a "Yeah, go on," and a nod. Kent nodded back, and left.

I took a deep breath. Okay, think. It's just you and Matthew . . . I heard a   
nicker from behind me.

Correction -- it's just you, Matthew, and the horse. There were usually two,   
one was missing. Not that I had actually seen them up close . . . I'd   
actually never been to Louise's stables before.

I turned around warily, facing the horse. "Well, we're here for this, so . .   
." I took a small step towards it.

Horses were rather . . . large, weren't they? I wondered how much damage   
those humongous hooves could do. I felt my eye twitch as I took another step   
forward, more hesitantly then before as I got closer. Wow, that thing was   
really, really --

It moved! Oh crap crap crap, the idea of something being both that big and   
alive seriously did NOT make my day! It lunged it's nose at me, and I let   
out a sound and jumped back. The horse whuffed far, far louder then   
necessary. There was no way that thing was an herbivore --

Matthew shook his head, and approached the creature as well.

I think I lost my ability to blink for awhile. Seriously. I was too busy   
staring -- in horror, I swear it! -- while Matthew dared to . . . to   
actually be . . . dare I say TENDER towards that brutal monstrosity. As   
Matthew patted the beast's neck and crooned softly at it, I made a very,   
very justified decision.

I decided I didn't like horses. At all.

Matthew, noticing my aversion, rolled his eyes. "Please, Guy, it's an   
animal." He -- I swallowed --patted the horse demonstratively. "No worse   
then your cat."

My cat? Well, Wo Dao wasn't the size of a . . . Hey, wait a sec. . . I   
jerked up to look at him. "How do YOU know I have a cat?" I accused him   
warily, unconciously stepping forward for a confrontation.

Which brought me closer to the stall -- and it's occupant. I noticed this a   
moment too late, and with an 'eep' I practically slammed myself back against   
the wall.

He grinned -- predictably enough. "I have my ways," he said slowly. "Now get   
over here."

Over . .. there? As in . . . next to both him, AND the horse? I really,   
really preferred to keep myself in one piece, and going over there was   
definitely going to decrease my chances of that. "Er . . . no?" I tested   
delicately.

His eyes took on their previous, strange, glow, and he leaned towards me,   
his grin softening to a voracious half-smile. "Guy," He warned, in a tone   
that might -- if I didn't know him so well -- be mistaken for genial, "This   
is part of our case. If it comes to it, I will force you."

The way he emphasized those last four words -- a sort of growling purr --   
scared me a bit. I mean, I had to be scared, why else would my flush   
reappear and my heart start to pound within my chest? My mouth went pretty   
dry too, and I sealed it shut to prevent myself from saying something   
stupid. It wasn't generally good advice to directly defy Matthew -- I knew,   
I'd worked for him -- but this was too much.

I shook my head rapidly, my braid swinging as wildly as it could in it's   
close proximity to the wall. "N-No way," my mouth stuttered on it's own.

The half-smile was absolutely predatorial. "Gu-uy," Matthew sang, once more   
being to advance towards me. This was familiar. Why, why was this so   
familiar?

I slid to the right, keeping my eyes on Matthew's. Their amused squinting of   
silent laughter wasn't helping my confidence, although my confidence was   
already pretty close to nil anyway, since Matthew always won our   
skirmishes.

Not to mention, there was a wall right behind me. Matthew really liked   
pinning me to the wall to render me helpless, it was his favorite way of . .   
. well . . . rendering me helpless. Combined with the closed space, this   
WASN'T the spot I wanted to have a tussle with my former boss.

Matthew's eyes were glowing again. This didn't bode well for me . . . I   
barely saw his subtle shift in weight in time -- Matthew pounced. Leaping   
back in time, I stumbled to catch my footing.

Matthew grabbed my shoulder and used my unbalance to pivot me, forcing my   
back to face him as he grabbed my wrists from behind. Disabled, already.   
Great, and Matthew wins . . . again. That's 137 wins for Matthew to . . .   
to. . . . I racked my brain for a time I'd won . . .

Well, at least I put up a fight, even if it didn't amount to much of one.

I kept struggling, but didn't bother to put any weight behind it, and   
Matthew knew it. I couldn't see his face, but I could literally sense the   
smirk he was no doubt wearing. Damn him! Damn him and his damn smirk! "You .   
. . y-you fiend!" I gasped.

"Guy, you don't really mean that, do you?"

Matthew, using his hold on my wrists, guided my hand forward. He didn't   
actually expect me to . . . to touch that thing, did he? I mean, it's not   
very clean looking and the place smells bad, so touching that thing couldn't   
be sanitary --

He gave me a gentle shove, forcing me to stumble forward to keep my balance,   
keeping my hand reaching towards the horse. Apparently, Matthew DID expect   
me to touch it.

Er . . .?

I then realized the exact postion we were in. Matthew was standing very   
close beside me, his front pressed almost fully against my back, one arm   
wrapped around me to keep a firm hold on my left wrist while his other hand   
was outstretched along with my right.

My first reaction to this was undeniably NOT negative. I immediately leaned   
into Matthew's invading warmth, closing my eyes and pressing backwards   
against him gently. Involuntarily, my throat made a low noise I didn't   
recognize. His response was to press against me with an equal strength, body   
heat seeping through my clothes. I felt his head bowing down, his breath hot   
against my ear. . . did he mean to do that, or was he . . . was he . . .

The horse . . . nickered.

That thing was EVILLL!!

I jumped back with a yelp. Or at least, tried to, since Matthew was directly   
behind me. With a not-so-sickening thud -- smashing Matthew to the ground   
gave me a perverse satisfaction -- I heard Matthew land before landed as   
well. Luckily, Matthew was there to break my fall.

. . . .Let's reassess that sentence, taking into consideration the fact that I am   
now sitting ontop of Matthew.

UNluckily, Matthew was there to break my fall. I let out an unmanly squawk   
as I flailed to my feet. I caught a minor glimpse of my partner's dastardly   
grin before something more urgent caught my eye.

I don't know what set that thing off, maybe all my shouting and quick moving   
-- but the horse was going crazy!! It heaved itself up to it's hind legs,   
letting out a piercing whinny.

I was going to die, wasn't I? That thing was going to kill me!

I scrambled to my feet, trying to avoid the horses hooves -- they'd looked   
dangerous when standing still; when they were moving . . . in my general   
direction . . . oh, god. I was going to die. I fell over -- again -- in my   
attempt to get away.

I scrambled up precariously, and stumbled back again on something squishy   
that sounded alot like Kent when I sat down hard on it and it went "Ooof." A   
new figure appeared in the doorway.

At this point, I was sitting on Kent, Sain was gaping at the scene in the   
doorway, the demon horse was trying to assault me on it's rear legs, and   
Matthew was trying desperately to yank down on the horses reins.

Matthew was . . . what? I was roughly shoved off Kent, since he seemed to   
recognize my shock and inability to do so myself -- but still I gaped as   
Matthew continued to yank on the reins, his face looking intense in   
concentration as he struggled to calm the beast's fury.

The horse succumbed, albeit slowly, to Matthew, until it's muscles trembled   
beneath his steady hands, My partners grin ghosted back to life as he blew   
gently in the horse's nostrils, cooing gently a soft variety of equine   
praise, involving "shiny coats" and "swift hooves."

I scowled at the sight. I really, really hated horses. I clambored to my   
feet, this time with more success then I'd been having lately at that.

Kent managed to look dignified despite the fact that I'd been sitting on him   
a few moments ago. Sain seemed more uncomfortable about that then Kent did,   
actually. I was almost too embarrassed and terrified to worry too much about   
that, but I stepped away from Kent awkwardly, not caring for the moment that   
doing so brought me closer to Matthew.

"What happened?" demanded Kent. As if it wasn't obvious.

"T-That thing ATTACKED me! THAT'S what happened!" I gasped out.

I backed against the wall again -- which I know isn't a good idea while   
Matthew's in the room, but my common sense had disappeared somewhere along   
the line -- away from the evil beast. "Er . . . so . . . Kent? C-Can we   
maybe talk . . . outside? A-As in, n-not in here?" I didn't worry too much   
about my stutter, either, as I was too busy worrying about those very, very   
large teeth the horse was sporting.

Sain pouted. "She wasn't attacking you, she was trying to be friendly," he   
almost whined, taking personal offense at my dislike of the . . . the . . .   
THING in the stall. Kent nodded agreement. "Then you probably did something   
which in turn frightened her. You're lucky your friend is so good with   
horses."

"He's not my friend," I blurted out automatically. "He's just my partner."

". . . partner? In what?" Sain wondered outloud, looking confused. Kent   
sighed. "They're detectives, Sain," he explained with a weary automation.   
Apparently, Kent had to explain alot of things to Sain.

Puzzled, Sain looked at me questioningly. "I know that! But I heard you   
mention before that you hated working with partners?" He turned his   
statement into a question by lilting is voice up at the end.

I felt my hands unconsciously curl into fists. "I still do," I ground out as   
politely as possible, not for Matthew's sake as much as Kent's.

"Oh, ok." Sain paused, then shrugged. "So, what do you guys want to know? Me   
an' Kent know alot, if I do say so myself. I mean, sure I've got a biased   
opinion, but you can live with that, right?" The goodnatured horseman   
flashed a wide smile at us, which Matthew returned wholeheartedly and I   
acknowledged tensly with a wry twisting of lips.

"We're investigating a horse theft," Matthew explained.

This was more my area. Adjusting myself to the familiarity of working on a   
case, I could relax enough that I didn't look as rigid as a pole. "We   
haven't visited the scene of the crime yet," I elaborated, "but we'd kind of   
like to know if there's anything we should look for."

"You're coming to us for help with detective work?" Sain looked half   
incredulous and half estatic. "But why?

I nodded my head rapidly, feeling my braid bob up and down on my back.   
"Well, y'know, horses and that kind of thing aren't my area of expertise. .   
." I felt a flush crawl up my neck as Matthew added teasingly, "As you could   
see."

Kent just nodded, sparing my dignity another bruise. "Alright then. . .You   
might check to see if there's any equipment missing."

I tilted my head to the side with a small frown. That made sense. A horse   
required alot of room and, if the various bits of leather and silver tacked   
to the wall had any significance, they also needed alot of inventory. If   
equipment wasn't missing, that would mean that the thief was used to   
accomodating horses and would narrow down our suspects to the richer half of   
the city.

"Mainly," Kent continued, "The bit and bridle."

I blinked. The what? My cluelessness must have shown on my face, because   
Sain held up an odd assortment of leather straps and painful looking piece   
of silver. "That's this thing, right here." He poined. "It goes in the   
mouth, and you use it to steer."

Personally, I thought you'd have to be crazy to actually want to get near   
enough to that thing to have to steer it, but I quelched that thought. I   
settled for a nuetral "oh" in response.

"And they eat hay, which isn't in short supply," offered Matthew, "So we   
wouldn't have to check for stolen food."

"Nope," perked Sain.

Kent paused, and looked down at me -- why was everyone taller then me? --   
with a serious expression. "What kind of horse was it?"

"A roan mare," Matthew supplied brightly, overriding anything that might   
have come out of my mouth. I jerked to face him, scowling. Hey, I was   
questioning the guy, what've you got to do with it?! Grrr . . .

Sain snorted before I could act on my annoyance. "Not for long." He   
anticipated my querying look with a grin. "They'd probably have dyed her,   
since it's almost impossible to hide a horse any other way. I mean," he   
gestured to the stall, "They stick out in a crowd."

Rolling his eyes, Kent nodded reluctantly. "That's a definite possibilty,   
but it'd ruin her coat," he agreed reluctantly. Wait, 'her?' What's with   
this 'her' buisiness? I'll keep to refering to these things as 'it,' thank   
you very much.

Voices sounded outside. I jerked my head over tensely, and Matthew didn't   
seem to react, but I could tell by the slight cock of his head that he was   
try to discern the words.

Kent noticed my tense stance, and shook his head. "That's just Lowen,   
bringing out other charge back from the vet."

I froze stiffly. Other. . . horse?

Sain began to jauntily walk out to the green-haired man -- I assumed Lowen   
-- to pick up the reins, calling behind him, "Kent, can you let him check   
Huey's hooves while he's here?"

H-HUEY?! I tried my best not to look revolted, I really did, so you can't   
blame me . "Y-You NAME those things?" Actually, I'd known that already . . .   
but seeing the name in use was really too much!

Sain reappeared with the monstrosity in tow, and nodded blithely, oblivious   
to my horror. "Yup! The one we've been with," he gestured to the horse in   
the stall, "is Huey. This one here," he patted the horse gently, with me   
flinching from each pat, "is --"

Matthew coughed loudly, interrupting Sain. I like to think that it's because   
he knew that if I heard the other beast's name, I'd blow chunks. It can't   
have been too hard to tell, I wasn't concealing my emotions at the time.

Kent finished leading the second monstrosity into the stable. Now there were   
TWO of them. In the same room. As me. I gulped, managing to squish myself   
even further against the wall.

I heard a muffled cough from Matthew. I jerked my eyes towards him warily.   
He stepped between me and the horses, which was more of a comfort then it   
should have been.

"As much as I think we should question you further . . ." Matthew gave a   
pointed glance -- for some reason -- at me, " . . . I think it'd be best if   
we leave. Guy?"

YES! I bolted at the door. Yes yes yes, Matthew was my salvation! We got to   
leave we got to leave we got to leave -- I swear, I could have kissed him.

I froze, my braid swinging over my shoulder at my sudden halt, eyes slightly   
wide, that last thought having slammed into me like a sledgehammer.

Kiss . . . Matthew?

. . . Ok, maybe not KISS him. . . although it might be worth it just to see   
what happened to that grin if I did . . . but Kent and Sain were right   
there, so it wouldn't probably go over well with them . . . and WHY was I   
seriously considering this, anyway?!

I shuddered -- or shivered, I couldn't decide which -- at the thought. Noo   
no no no, Couldn't think about things like that, not on a case. Especially   
not about Matthew of all people, the irritating, grinning fiend . . .

As we made our way out, Kent stopped Matthew to give him a rare compliment.   
"That really was good job with Huey, by the way," He said almost grudgingly.   
Kent was always willing to give credit where it was due, but he seemed to   
still have doubts about Matthew. Good man, Kent.

That was understandable, but . . .

I paused. Matthew had never handled a horse in his life before. He'd told me   
so himself. He'd told Louise, too. How had he known what to do? How had he   
known EXACTLY how to calm the horse down? I frowned in concentration at him, as   
if the answer was written somewhere in Matthew's grin.

Mathew noticed my stare as we walked to the taxi, and flashed a grin.   
"Something on my face, or am I just that wonderful to look at?" he purred.

I inwardly seethed as I swung myself into the car.

-------------------------------------------------------

Yeah, yeah, I had to . . . uh . . 'research' horses. ---- Ick. And I know   
that horses don't scare that easy, but we'll just say that this horse is   
skittish.

Ugh, that took longer then expected. I absolutely hated this one, mostly   
because I was so eager to be writing the next one instead. (It's got   
Legault!) Plus, Kent kept giving me issues. He kept being . . . quirky. And   
he twitched alot. So yeah, blame Kent for the delay, it's all HIS fault.

Anyhoo . .. if you reaallly like me, you'll review. And in return, my next   
chapter will be coming out MUCH sooner -- I promise. Considering it's pretty   
much written already.


	4. 2:45 pm

Grr . . . it took me forever to get this sent to my beta . . . sorry for the  
wait, people, but it wasn't as long as the last one, now was it? Of course, this  
chapter was mostly completed, I just had to put in the beginning and the  
slightly steamier ending and ship it off. My grounded status interfered with  
that though . . . eh, well, I'm still grounded, but I'm also still kicking!

This chapter gets off to a boring start . . . but there is Nino. Nino will make  
it better.

---------------------------------------------

Matthew rattled out an address, and the cabby shook his head. "It'll cost extra  
to get me to go to that side of town, sir--"

"I know," Matthew waved off the cabbie's worry as though it were completely  
irrelevant. I blinked over at him incredulously, not wanting to ask the obvious.

. . . Ah, hell. I asked the obvious anyway. "Matthew . . . where are we going?"  
I put out almost tentatively, narrowing my eyes cautiously.

He didn't meet my eyes, and since Matthew seemed to like to meet my eyes any  
chance he got, this spelled out trouble. D-Damn him, he was going to g-get me  
s-suspended by the end of this, I k-knew it! "To a friend's," he said, the  
evasive tone scarcely noticeable, even if you were looking for it.

And trust me, I was looking for it.

"Am I, y'know," my sarcastic edge must have been clear, "obligated to like this  
'friend?'" Ok, I swear I didn't mean my 'sarcastic edge' to turn into 'querulous  
squeak' like it did just then. God, I h-hate what Matthew's presence does to me.

"No." Oh, goody. "But I'd personally prefer it if you did."

That . . . really wasn't incentive. " . . . Right."

The rest of the trip passed way too slowly, what with Matthew leaning constantly  
too close to me and me muttering thinly veiled insults in his ear. I was more  
wound up than my granddaddy's old clock by the time the cab stopped. I heard  
Matthew paying off the driver and asking him to wait for us, as I stepped out  
and drank in my surroundings cautiously.

Cautiously soon turned into uneasily. The skies, which had actually been pretty  
dark to begin with from all the rain, were even darker this side of town.  
Considering it was in the middle of the afternoon, I attributed this to the  
smoke pouring out of the large, dingy brick buildings to my right. That 'dingy'  
status didn't belong to the factories alone; all the buildings were dirty, the  
windows were boarded, and the reflections from in that alley weren't from glass.

I gulped and unconsciously -- I swear to god, it was unconsciously! -- stepped  
closer to Matthew. Gesturing to the cabby, I muttered, "Will he be okay there?"  
The place around us looked like the prime hunting grounds for the common mugger.

Matthew looked down at me, and I ignored his searching look. "Yes," he said  
finally, his confident tone doing wonders in putting my mind at ease.

Even though it shouldn't have . . . damn him . . .

He grabbed my arm, and I felt my flush return to the familiar realm of my face  
as he held me unnecessarily close while leading me through the run-down maze of  
alleys . . . but, I gotta admit, the extra close proximity to Matthew made me  
feel a hell of a lot safer.

Even though it really shouldn't have . . . damn him, again . . .

"Matthew! Hello!"

The cheery voice jerked my mind out of its discontented mutterings, and I looked  
around for the source before finally looking down, straight into the eyes of . .  
.

A child. A bright-eyed, green haired child was happily hugging Matthew around  
the waist -- I frowned, my chest clenching up at this for some reason -- in the  
middle of an obviously dangerous place, alone. Something was wrong with this  
picture.

I glanced around hurriedly, immediately on the defensive -- and this worsened to  
offensive when I caught the eyes of a prowler on the opposite roof. This,  
however, forced me to relax when it occurred to me that the red-haired, cloaked  
figure was watching over the kid, not looking to mug her, as his crouching  
stance spoke of a wary guarding-ness.

"Hello, Nino," Matthew roughly mussed up the child's, Nino's, hair, making it  
stick up in a style strangely similar to his own. "Is he in?" Wait, was who in?

"Yup!" Nino's eyes flicked to me curiously, and it took her a few seconds to  
drink in Matthew's hand, which was still fastened tightly to my wrist. "Er . . .  
should I warn him we've got company?"

Matthew didn't hesitate. "It's up to you."

The girl twirled with a giggle. "You've never brought anyone before," she mused.  
"Is there a reason he needs to meet the," her hand slipped in front of her mouth  
to poorly veil a giggle, "Hurricane?"

Oh, OK, so we're meeting the Hurricane, that's . . . that's . . . wait, WHAT?!

HURRICANE?! Was M-Matthew C-CRAZY?!

I choked, slightly, but didn't say anything. H-Hurricane? T-THE Hurricane? As  
in, the m-mob leader Hurricane? Apparently, my being silent was the right thing  
to do, since Matthew nudged me slightly in approval.

Think think think . . . what did I know about the Hurricane . . . he was  
underground ruler of the city. Rumors -- which were most likely true -- spoke of  
the mayor having made deals with him. More important to me were the facts that  
stated that the numerous detectives who'd gone searching for the Hurricane never  
came back.

Unless you define 'came back' as 'floating facedown in the river.'

Eep?

But I'd heard that he was a reasonably fair man . . . so, there was a chance  
I-I'd get out of this alive as long as I kept q-quiet, r-right? N-No losing my  
temper, and no doing anything t-too stupid . . . and . . . and . . .

. . . And w-why wasn't I surprised that Matthew knew the Hurricane? Matthew was  
just the kind of s-sneaky bastard w-who would! I had the urge to cross my arms  
and turn away in a huff. Hmph.

The hallway behind the door Nino had opened was surprisingly short. With a small  
skip across us, and then a juvenile wink, Nino yanked open a new door. Before I  
could consider balking, Matthew snatched my wrist and dragged me in. Lucky for  
him -- or so I liked to think -- my attention was brought elsewhere before I  
could really complain to him about it.

The Hurricane.

The first thing I noticed about the Hurricane was the way he seemed to fill the  
room on his own. The second thing I noticed, as he turned his head to peer at us  
with keen eyes, was the scar. It ran from above his eye down to near the base of  
his jaw line, and while normally a thing like that'd make him ugly as sin, it  
added to his -- I admitted grudgingly -- striking figure.

The man wore his waist length, lavender hair (I bristled, who did he think he  
was? When it wasn't braided, mine fell at least that long. Grr . . .) up in a  
black bandanna, which matched his classy dark suit. It showed off his height and  
his willowy, almost regal, sort of stature, which even Commissioner Rath  
couldn't meet.

"Legault," Matthew offered the longhaired man a friendly smile. I scowled; what  
was it with him and smiling at everyone but me? And at the obviously dangerous  
Hurricane 'Legault' too; he hadn't gotten that scar -- or reputation -- from  
sitting at home twiddling his thumbs.

"Matthew," greeted Legault in a smooth, comfortable tone. I could see how a man  
like him could gain followers, he moved in a way that said 'If it's not already  
mine I'll take it anyway.' "It's been awhile," he playfully accused.

My partner shook his head. "Only a week." Matthew's smile turned wider as they  
shook hands in the easy way that spoke of close friendship.

I hadn't had too much of an opinion of Legault to begin with, what with being  
the mob and all, but he was really beginning to bug me. I wasn't too sure why  
though, Matthew's shady friendships weren't my business to be caring about.

"True. Yet, I've a feeling this isn't a strictly . . . social call," the taller  
man drawled, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow, turning his head almost  
regally to bring me into his line of sight. " . . . Just a feeling, mind you,"  
He finished dryly, flicking his eyes back to Matthew. I coughed, and Matthew  
shook his head.

"I'm on a case," he said bluntly. "This is my partner for the job, Guy Kutolah."  
He turned to me. Ah, his grin was back, and so it appeared was my damned blush.  
" . . . Guy, this is Legault, an old . . . associate, of mine."

The pause in his search for a word was evident. It was obvious they were more  
then just mere associates, but again it wasn't my business . . . kinda wished it  
was, though . . .

No, no no! No, I DIDN'T care anything about anything to do with Matthew Ostia!  
He was an evil, evil person who delighted in torturing me continuously with his  
evil grin and evil . . . evilness!

I stepped forward as I was introduced and stuck out my hand boldly, trying not  
to bring attention to my considerably smaller stature as he made eye contact. "I  
don't think we've met before," I enunciated slowly, taking extreme care with my  
words. Stuttering now, it wouldn't be good.

Legault raised both eyebrows this time, but kept his eyes on mine as he took my  
hand. He had a firm shake, and I returned it as evenly as I could, having to  
look up to meet his ice blue gaze.

I decided then that Legault's charming creepiness was really almost . . .  
intriguing. I could see how he'd managed to befriend even Matthew, his charisma  
might have begun to affect me.

Key word there being 'might' because then his mouth curled into an odd smile,  
and he gave my hand a light squeeze. His eyes trailed down from mine to give the  
rest of me what was beginning to be a familiar look over. "Pleasure, to be  
sure," he purred.

One of the guards -- a well-built, green and white haired man of about Matthew's  
height -- shifted nervously.

I tried to keep my face blank but I could feel my eye twitching slightly. Yeah,  
while he was charismatic and weirdly charming, he was also perverted. I released  
his hand, my eyebrows furrowing in consternation.

"Maybe not," I hazarded, not stepping back. I was not going to be intimidated.  
Not by this guy, and DEFINITELY not in f-front of M-Matthew.

Matthew cleared his throat. "Legault, Guy is MY partner and a close . . .  
friend, of mine." I looked over at him; what did that emphasis on the word  
'friend' mean? Not to mention, on the word 'my,' because I was NOT Matthew's in  
ANY way.

"How close is close?" mused Legault, tilting his head in another, unspoken  
query.

"Close." Matthew was curt.

I looked back and forth between them spastically. How the hell was I supposed to  
interpret this conversation? It was like they all spoke fiendish-bastard-ese, or  
some similar language. I balanced on the balls of my feet, not completely  
comfortable.

Legault looked down for a moment, as though considering something, and then his  
head jerked up sharply, eyeing me in an entirely new light. He didn't look too  
happy, either, like I had just insulted him by just standing there.

Well, that wasn't good.

He frowned at Matthew. " . . . I seem to recall you mentioning a Guy Kutolah,  
two years ago."

Matthew visibly stiffened, and he was extremely careful not to look anywhere  
near me. "I've never mentioned him to you."

Legault didn't look happy about that, either. I didn't want to think about the  
sorts of things that could happen when this Hurricane was unhappy. I uneasily  
began to edge behind Matthew, placing him between Legault and me. Better him  
then me.

"Well, you'd hardly remember it." Legault said in a voice even more velvety then  
usual. This didn't bode well. "You weren't exactly . . . sober."

Matthew might or might not have noticed my slowly edging behind him, but either  
way, he sidestepped so he was completely in front of me. I leaned to the right  
to blink around him. Was Matthew being . . . protective?

"Ah." Matthew said tightly. "Then."

Now normally, I'd get pretty mad if Matthew -- if anyone, really -- tried to do  
something like protecting me. I don't usually need much protecting; I can handle  
myself. But I guess under the circumstances, and the fact that I'd been easing  
behind him to begin with, it wasn't so bad. Since, y'know, Legault probably had  
a gun. I did too, but it wasn't loaded. Pocketknives vs. guns, anyone?

"I'm surprised you didn't act immediately, if you caught a name," Matthew said  
lightly.

"You had mixed feelings on," Legault's eyes flickered to me, and then back to  
Matthew, "the subject, and you seemed disinclined to bring it up later. I  
thought it wiser to not act . . ." Another obvious eye flicker, " . . . on it."

Subject? Me? I was the . . . subject?

"Wise," agreed Matthew sullenly, his defensive stance loosening.

"Y-You drink?" I muttered near his ear in query as I moved up next to him.

Matthew shook his head slowly. "Not really."

Legault had better hearing then I gave him credit for. "In all the time I've  
known him," he said thoughtfully, "Matthew has only gotten drunk twice. Once,  
two years ago, and once --"

Matthew was seized then by a violent coughing fit. I pounded him on the back a  
few times, and Matthew straightened with a muttered "Thanks" and turned back to  
Legault. The taller man finished lamely, " . . . once, before that."

I wondered for a moment if that was really what the Hurricane was going to  
originally say. Just for a moment, though.

Matthew had never even put a bit of something stronger to lace his coffee. Here  
I was being told he'd drunk himself incoherent . . . because of me . . . two  
years ago . . . I'd left, two years ago . . .

Wait a sec . . . was I supposed to believe that Matthew had gone and fallen into  
a drunken stupor two years ago because I'd quit? Legault was obviously trying to  
tell me something, and the way that he was glancing at me was asking 'Did you  
get all that?'

No, no jumping to conclusions . . . It had to be some other reason. One that  
occurred after I left, of course, because while I was working for him, he'd  
never once acted depressed. Hell, he'd never even been slightly unhappy when in  
my presence.

But even as I nodded curtly at Legault, I felt my blush rising again. I glanced  
over at Matthew, to find HIM looking at ME. I think I let out an 'eep' as I  
turned quickly back to face Legault.

That didn't help much, as Legault was looking supremely amused.

"Yes, well," I wasn't about to look at Matthew, but hearing his voice was  
unavoidable. "Legault, are you going to play along or not?"

Play along? Must be more of the fiendish-bastard-ese I couldn't quite get.

Legault rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, fine."

Matthew nodded, and motioned for me to stay put. I wasn't about to protest,  
since if Matthew weren't here right now, I'd probably be floating face-down in  
the river by now. He and Legault stepped to the side.

I tried and failed to understand what they were discussing in hushed tones, but  
I could tell the mood. Legault was pressuring Matthew for information, and  
Matthew looked determined not to give in.

Nino burst in the door just then -- There is a God! -- effectively interrupting  
the awkward moment. She was obviously trying to be quiet, but it wasn't her  
strong suit as she skirted around the edge of the room and passed a slip of  
paper to the guard I'd noticed earlier.

The green-and-white haired man took the slip, and frowned, casting a hesitant  
glance at Legault. Legault glanced over there, and then back at us, and then  
back at the guard. And then he gave an exasperated sigh. "Heath, come here."

The man -- Heath -- looked annoyed at being ordered, but walked towards us,  
offering up the slip.

Legault considered the proffered slip, and reached out . . . to grab the wrist  
of the hand holding it. Heath yelped as Legault yank him forward into his arms,  
and with a smirk, gracefully dipped down to catch his lips in his own.

Heath was pretty much putty in Legault's, er, obviously skilled hands. Legault  
deepened the touch to the point where they probably tell each other if they  
still had their tonsils.

I -- to be really really blunt about, because I don't think I was thinking at  
the time -- gaped. Quite obviously, actually, and I almost missed the fact that  
Matthew was glancing at me to see my reaction. Almost.

I had a very mixed reaction. While my preferences were along the same lines . .  
. I had never seen such a, w-well, blatant s-show of it.

Legault pulled back to end the kiss and for a brief moment, touched his forehead  
to Heath's. I blinked at Legault's possessive motion, and the observant Legault  
narrowed his eyes at me.

"Do you have an issue with," he, at this, pulled Heath to him by the waist,  
leading the guard to look even more embarrassed then before, "this?"

'This' was apparently a reference to the fact that they were both, well, male. I  
shook my head slowly, my face warmer then it had been all night. That . . . was  
pretty warm; I was probably almost completely red.

"Uh . . . " I wasn't sure how to answer that question. "Why would I care who he  
sleeps with . . ." I muttered under my breath. It hadn't been meant to be heard,  
really, but Matthew coughed, and Legault raised an eyebrow.

I hurriedly tried to amend my mistake. "I-I think . . ." I gestured at Heath,  
"he's got more of an issue then I do."

Legault raised his other eyebrow, and looked down at Heath long enough to  
register the beginnings of anger in his face. He looked almost reproachful as he  
set Heath delicately back on his feet.

Heath hissed something in Legault's ear, and Legault muttered something back. A  
few moments later after a whispered conversation, Legault turned to us.

"I've given you the information you need, gentlemen. I apologize that I wasn't  
more . . . hospitable; but I'll have to ask that you leave."

I was still blushing furiously as I nodded. Matthew sighed. "Legault, I both  
thank you and hate you."

"Anytime, Matthew. I do enjoy these theatrics," Legault nodded, and Matthew  
nodded back before leading the way back to the alleyway door.

I frowned as we left. Theatrics? Something told me that this was important, my  
intuition leaning on this hint. Even though, it didn't seem all that relevant to  
the case . . .

Nino escorted us back to the alley, surprisingly quieter then before. She left  
us there, with a grin directed at the two of us, before slipping back in and  
shutting the door discreetly.

I blinked. "Er . . . what'd he tell you?"

"None of his people committed the crime," Matthew said vacantly, concentrating  
on something. Stepping in front of me, he gripped my shoulders, looking down at  
me and frowning strangely. I blinked at him. "What?"

"You . . ." he shook his head, and with a small chuckle, admitted, "You handled  
yourself well in there."

"Really? I thought I'd been a bit too strong. What with the rejection and all .  
. . " I tilted my head to the side. "I guess I was supposed to do that, since  
that Heath was there."

"It takes guts to be headstrong around Legault," Matthew plunged his hands into  
his pockets, and leaned back ruefully. "And Legault knows it. He appreciates  
guts in people."

He turned his head towards me again, and inspected me gravely. I returned the  
favor; he had the air of someone in deep contemplation as he looked briefly at  
the sky.

Then, he grinned dangerously (because all his grins were dangerous) as his eyes  
flashed back to mine. "Personally, I thought you'd be clumsy and knock something  
over, or try and act tiny like you usually do, and stutter the whole time."

"W-WHAT?!" My eyes flew open and I stepped back slightly, hands curling into  
fists. H-How dare he s-say that!! D-Damn him! "I-I only d-do that with y-you!" I  
blurted stupidly.

And then I blinked. Nice, Guy. Real nice. Just out and say that to him so he can  
point and laugh and say mean nasty things to you. G-Go on, laugh, d-damn you!

Matthew's grin widened from dangerous to absolutely treacherous. (I knew it!  
That evil grin!) He advanced a step, and I retreated instinctively. His eyes  
seemed to flash as his voice lowered. "Is that so . . ." he purred, the growl of  
his voice squeezing my throat shut.

He stepped forward again, and I backpedaled hastily -- straight into the brick  
wall of the building. I wasn't really paying much attention to that, though,  
until it got to the point where Matthew was less then a foot away and I couldn't  
escape . . ..

. . . Even if I wanted to.

This . . . wasn't a very familiar position for me. Usually when we were this  
close, it was because I was yelling in HIS face -- or at his neck, due to height  
difference -- over something. However, in those situations, Matthew just stood  
there and cocked his eyebrow in that annoying fashion of his and coolly replied  
to my shouting.

The situation was reversed here -- Matthew was about to be in MY face. What to  
do? I hadn't stood my ground, so that was out. I could yell at him, but  
considering the minor fact that my throat didn't work . . . that was a problem  
all it's own. Running? Not even an option. It seemed I'd suffered temporary  
paralysis . . . of everything.

No, wait, not everything. My blush was still working great. Hell, it was making  
up for everything else.

I looked up at him, his amber eyes glittering oddly in the cloudy dusk light.  
His forehead bumped against my hat brim softly.

"I-I . . . y-you," I stuttered eloquently. My mouth decided to start working  
again, although not very well. I swallowed, but my voice still came out husky.  
"W-What are you . . . " I swallowed again, " . . . doing?"

His smirk was classic, and made his eyes crinkle up slightly, giving them an  
exotic tilted look. Why were my knees so wobbly all the sudden? Was there a  
reason -- besides the blatant obvious which I was trying to ignore, of course --  
that my heart was pounding incessantly in my chest?

"I'm testing a little theory of mine," he whispered, leaning in even more. I  
could feel his breathing on my nose. The warmth pooling in my stomach  
intensified by several degrees, and I resisted the urge to lick my lips as he  
got closer.

"Tell me," Matthew's grin turned into a ghost of itself, as if he was struggling  
keep it on, "Do you," he purred, "really stutter naturally, or are you trying to  
sound that damn cute?"

Well, whatever was there, for that few seconds? It was totally gone. "C-CUTE?!"  
I shrieked, entirely by reflex. Even Matthew, who was used to my loud screams at  
close range, flinched.

I stamped my booted foot on the ground, temptingly close to Matthew's instep. "I  
am N-NOT C-CUTE!" I glared. My hat slipped forward and almost covered my eyes,  
and I readjusted it with a swift jerk.

And then I realized -- belatedly -- that I had effectively stopped Matthew's  
descent towards me. Was this a gift from God, or a curse?

Matthew slumped forward with a small sigh, and stepped back, rubbing a finger in  
his ear resignedly. "That was my eardrum you just killed."

I felt a bit bolder with the added space and the new store of righteous  
indignation. K-Killed his eardrum, h-huh?! I c-could kill H-HIM! D-DAMN him!  
He'd gone and made me realize something! Something I was really better off not  
realizing.

The words rolled through my mind, which processed it numbly.

'I want him.'

I blinked up at him in horror. I wanted Matthew's body. I rampantly lusted after  
him.

Oh God.

Contrary to my hormones belief, that wasn't a good thing, either, since he was  
both A) evil, B) my partner, and C) MATTHEW. Maybe then, I should re-assess this  
little predicament in the best possible light. Maybe it'll sound better. Maybe.

Let's try, 'I want him, BADLY.'

. . . That wasn't much better.

And exactly . . . w-what was Matthew saying? " . . . we'll have to stop by my apartment --"

I didn't catch much else, really . . . except . . . M-Matthew's apartment?

. . .

. . . Oh, GOD.

--------------------------------------------------

I had things switched around when I came up with the plot -- with Legault and  
Heath the clients, and Raven and Lucius the mobsters -- but Legault as a mob  
boss was too hard to resist. The Uncle, as opposed to the Godfather . . . heh,  
Uncle Legault . . .

But for that last part of the chapter . . . I can explain!!! See, my mom 'lent'  
me one of her romance novels. Oo That . . . was an eye-opener, and led to me  
writing an even more aggressive Matthew, and mildly less innocent Guy. (Am I the  
only one who finds the idea of Matthew running around trying to get into Guy's  
pants extremely funny?)


	5. 3:30 pm

Hey, it's unanimous. Lusty Matthew and Guy are a hit. ::grins:: Now I just have  
to write them all . . . y'know . . . lusty, and try to keep to my thin thread of  
a plot. Yes, this story DOES have a plot. NO, you can't see it. Yet. Hiss.

First, I'd just like to say that you guys all ROCK. Your reviews -- and I DO  
read them all . . . and re-read them -- are very heartening, more then you  
probably think. And . . . and it topped the fifty mark!!!! By the fourth  
chapter!!! Wheeeehoo!

Uh, I forget if I put any disclaimers in this fic . . . so, yeah . . . [insert  
disclaimer here]

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

We were back in the car -- Gods know, I don't remember the trip back except for  
the fact that Matthew had a firm hold on my wrist through it -- before I brought  
up enough nerve to stutter out something. "M. . . Matthew?" And what a wonderful  
something it was.

"Yes?" He grinned down at me as if ABSOLUTELY NOTHNG was different! As if he . .  
. as if he h-hadn't come down on me i-in an alley! Maybe I'd misinterpreted it .  
. . maybe he really HADN'T . . . I gulped . . . I didn't know which would be  
worse.

"W-Why are we going to . . ." his eyes were swirling again . . . a trick of the  
light, I knew, but . . . I had to force myself to look out the taxi's window to  
finish my sentence, " . . . your a-apartment?"

"Hmm?" Matthew nudged himself a little closer to me then I thought was  
completely necessary. Not that I was complaining . . . er, much. I shifted  
nervously before Matthew began to continue in a mischievous tone. "Weren't you  
listening to me?"

I could feel his breath on my ear as he went on. I could barely concentrate  
enough to listen to what he was actually saying, d-damn him. "Guy, I'm feeling a  
bit neglected."

N-NEGLECTED!? T-That over-confident bastard! I-I could b-barely think about  
a-anything B-BUT him! I turned to face him and scowl, which was a mistake since  
he was sitting oh-so-very close to me to begin with. If I leaned forward just a  
bit, I could . . .

"Well, you'll just have to wait and see, now won't you?"

WHAT? Matthew was taunting me, again! "It wasn't my fault I wasn't listening, I  
was distracted!" I blurted out, shocking myself for getting the whole sentence  
out without a stutter.

"By what?" A murmur asked into my ear. Oh, god.

I flushed heavily, and didn't trust in my voice enough to reply. The taxi  
stopped, at length, near a tallish building of red brick and white trim, narrow  
among other buildings of the same build and shape. I memorized the apartment  
building number as soon as we stopped by it.

I stepped out of the car and shut the door, all the while inspecting the  
apartment complex. Matthew was grinning at me when I turned my head to face him.  
"Home sweet home."

O-Okay . . . I took a deep breath . . . think, Guy. So, you're going to your  
object of infatuation's apartment . . . i-it wasn't as bad as it sounded . . .  
j-just a quick trip . . . in, and the out, j-just as fast . . .

He led me inside the front door, and gave me a mocking bow, flourishing with his  
arms elegantly. I scowled at him -- from habit -- as I passed.

Matthew jangled with some keys, and I watched him walk with a confidence that  
screamed that he was in a familiar place. This really was his home, wasn't it?  
His opened the door for me, and held it open so I could go first.

Damn him, acting like a gentleman. Hmph.

I took a step inside, feeling the wall to my right for a light switch before  
realizing the switch was actually to my left. I flushed as I flipped it one and  
stepped further inside. It smelled of Matthew, at the very least. Spearmint,  
sandalwood, and cinnamon . . .. Mmm, I was liking Matthew's place already . . .  
No! No no no no, I would NOT like Matthew's place! I wouldn't!

"It's no Ritz[1]," Matthew shifted his weight absently, "but it keeps me dry . . 

"It's nice," I peered at the main studio room of the apartment. It wasn't  
exactly a genius bit of decorating, but all the furniture was cherry wood, and  
the walls were covered in bookshelves and paintings from the art students at the  
University. "Better then my place, definitely . . ." I winced. Didn't mean to  
say that aloud, actually. I didn't have enough money on my hands to spend on  
pictures and books . . .

"It . . . it is?" Matthew gave me an incredulous look.

My eyebrow twitched as I realized: Matthew had been . . . embarrassed. I blinked  
in a slight thought. Apparently, our trip to Louise's had given him a delusion  
or two about my status in life . . . I looked around me with a snort. "The  
government doesn't pay much, you know. I made more under your payroll . . ."

I'll give Matthew this much: even if he was the most aggravating boss in the  
world (And he was! Really!) he wasn't stingy. I'd never had any real money  
troubles while I'd worked for him, and I'd had to force myself -- when I'd  
switched jobs -- to live more modestly. My apartment was easily a third smaller  
then his.

"What's behind the closed doors?" I asked, out of curiosity. A corner of my mind  
noted that I was doing a horrible job of just going in and out right away. Yeah,  
w-well . . . screw y-you, tiny corner. Hmph.

Matthew shrugged, heading towards one. This made his back turn towards me, and I  
shifted. Why hadn't I noticed before how well his pants fit? "This leads to the  
kitchen," he answered amiably. "That's the closet, and that," he pointed at the  
last one, "is my bedroom." He turned and quirked an eyebrow.

. . . God, that was sexy . . . Matthew headed into his kitchen.

My mind was caught between two curiosities: what Matthew was doing, and what lay  
behind the third door . . . Matthew's bedroom . . .? My flush rose considerably,  
and I turned quickly to hide it, pretending to inspect a painting on the wall.  
Well . . .

What DID Matthew's bedroom look like? I mean, this was a once in a lifetime  
opportunity, and Matthew would probably tell me later . . . if I resorted to  
begging, maybe . . .

Besides, a funny smell, like ammonia or something, was coming form his kitchen.  
He must have just cleaned it or something.

I blinked at the door Matthew had disappeared into, then began to awkwardly  
sidestep in the other direction. He wouldn't mind if I just took a tiny peek . .  
.. Just a little one, not even a few seconds, really . . .

I turned the doorknob as quietly as possible, peering in.

The room was very Matthew-y, I decided. Not much furniture, except a light wood  
bed, an armoire tucked in the corner, and a table stand in the corner. His  
comforter, a dark green, matched the rug he'd tossed on the floor. And best yet  
-- I took a deep, long breath -- it smelled just like him.

Sandalwood, and mint . . .

I stepped in, my shoes clacking slowly on the mostly wooden floor. I had a very  
distinct urge to fling myself upon the bed -- it was almost twice the size of  
mine -- and I stuffed my hands into my pockets to control it.

That wasn't the only urge I was trying to control, as my imagination was feeding  
my brain imaginary pictures of an imaginary Matthew in clothes that were more  
imagination then cloth . . . I shook my head to clear it, and tapped my knuckles  
nervously on the wall.

"Having fun?"

Dammit!

I swiveled guiltily with a tiny 'eep.' Matthew was leaning against his doorframe  
casually, his arms crossed and his eyebrow quirked. A niggling feeling arose at  
the sight of his grin -- what I once thought was annoyance and frustration, and  
what I now knew to be . . . something entirely different.

GOD, that was sexy . . . no, no no no no . . . keep your mind clear, Guy, he  
always distracted you like this before . . . maybe now that you know why, you  
can stop this . . .

. . . Oh, SCREW that, I-I was in his BEDROOM. W-What w-was s-someone  
supposed tod-do in this k-kind of situation?! Y-You don't just . . . just . . . get  
the chance to b-be in your lust object's b-bedroom every d-damn day!!

"E-er . . . I was, uh . . ." I winced. Why did I even bother looking for an  
excuse? I knew I'd end up telling the truth eventually anyway . . . "I-I got . .  
. curious, so . . ." I mumbled, peering at the floor fixedly, knowing my blush  
was in full view. Wow, I felt stupid. Of all the possible things to say to  
Matthew -- in his BEDROOM! -- that was one of the possible WORST.

Matthew was, in fact, staring at me strangely, with that odd look of glowing  
eyes and slightly furrowed brows. "What were you curious about, Guy?" he asked  
in a teasing tone . . . was his voice . . . hoarse, or was it just me?

"I-I don't know . . ." I shrugged testily. I couldn't leave the room, that'd  
involve me sidling uncomfortably -- or maybe too comfortably -- close to  
Matthew. And staying would involve . . . well, staying. My flush deepened.  
D-damn him . . . d-did he know what h-he was doing?!

His eyes glittered. I w-wouldn't be surprised if h-he did! Why, WHY did I have  
to b-be attracted to the m-most infuriating human being on the whole fluxing  
planet?!

"If you wanted to know what we were doing here, by the way," Matthew tacked on,  
his voice definitely lowering considerably, (I swallowed loudly) "I was getting  
my hat."

I glanced at his hat for a moment -- it was a nice hat -- before flickering my  
eyes back to his face. Then I glanced back at the hat . . . which had a long,  
bleach blonde hair on it. Much longer then Matthew's.

I paled. Stupid stupid stupid . . . think, Guy. Do you really think a smart,  
sexy man like Matthew would be available? Of course he wouldn't have mentioned  
any of his love interests . . . he'd been really tense when he thought Louise  
was my girlfriend, so . . .

D-Dammit, if it was so goddamned p-predictable, why was my chest feeling like  
it'd implode at a m-moment's notice?! I bit my lip and looked away.

Mathew frowned. "Guy? Are you alright?"

Look normal, act normal, act yourself . . . I gave my -- probably lame --  
attempt at a smile, before plucking the hair from the top of his hat. "I . . .  
just didn't know you preferred blondes . . . " I think my smile was fading . . .  
" . . . really." And I hadn't k-known that . . . s-so it was the t-truth . . .  
right?

"Guy . . ." Matthew's eyes widened in a sudden realization as I held up the hair  
between us dumbly. Dammit . . . had my face revealed too much? P-Probably so . .  
. I scrunched my eyes shut and waited for the scorning, aggravatingly clever  
remark that was sure to follow . . . "Guy, as sad as it sounds, I haven't gone  
on a date in more then three years."

My eyes popped open. Er . . . what? A tiny voice in the back of my head reminded  
me I'd met Matthew three years ago . . . "This doesn't belong to anyone I really  
know . . ." Matthew trailed off, although his voice still had that strange,  
urgent explaining tone to it. "I must have accidentally picked it up . . ." he  
paused, " . . . elsewhere."

A sagging sort of relief filled me, even in the middle of his sentence.  
Elsewhere . . . not a girlfriend or anyone one else, but Matthew had picked up  
that long, bleach blonde hair . . . elsewhere . . .

I froze . . . and it clicked into place. Such an insignificant piece of  
information . . . and it triggered my brain into working double. Conversations,  
observances over the last day . . . not even a day, the past few hours . . .

Oh god . . .. I'd figured it out . . . the case . . .. " . . . Oh god oh god oh  
god . . . " I chanted under my breath, my mind working furiously under the  
pressure of this last confirming puzzle piece. I rubbed my eye in an almost  
frantic motion. N-no . . . scratch a-almost frantic. It WAS frantic.

I couldn't see Matthew -- my bangs and my tense, clenched hands got in the way  
-- but I did hear him say, " . . . Guy . . .?" The -- warm! -- weight of his  
hand slid onto my shoulder.

It fit . . . it all fit, I could piece everything together . . . the pieces fit  
perfectly, and it made so much sense that . . . it was so impossibly possible,  
so impossibly and damnably unfair . . . It was so d-damn unfair!

With more then a little difficulty, I swung away from Matthew's - wonderfully,  
wonderfully warm -- touch, leaning against the wall for support instead. It was  
. . . no, it wasn't, but it was . . .

I swallowed.

I knew who did it. D-dammit . . . DAMN it . . .

It was . . . HE was . . ."Y-YOU THIEVING BASTARD!"

And with that thought, I immediately whirled around and threw my fist at  
Matthew.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I'm so evil sometimes, I amaze myself . . . and this chapter's so SHORT . . .  
er, please don't kill me. . .

There wasn't even that much perversion . . .. Now, now, though, there are still  
two chapters left . . . I think, if I've written out my chapter summaries  
correctly . . . anyhoo, my point is that the story isn't over yet, things aren't  
always as they seem . . . and besides, the story CAN'T end with Matthew in jail!  
Our main characters haven't even kissed . . . er, yet!!

[1] The Ritz Carlton, as most people should know, was recently built at that  
time. It's still one of the most prestigious and glamorous (not to mention  
expensive) hotel lines in the world. I stayed there once! Fweee, so cool!

In other news . . . My thanks to my bestest beta, R Amythest, (The llamas live!)  
and my most spastic (yup, that's a compliment) friend Scarabsi. And Miserikordi,  
because she's cool too. (WRITE, I demand it!) Because I feel the urge to mention  
these people and give them a nice, big, virtual hug. Squee.


	6. 4:45 pm

Doo doo dee DOOO! It's WONDER-BETA, R Amythest! ::waves::

::sighs:: I think I confused you guys a bit with the hair thing . . . most  
thought it was Lucius's, some Louise's, and I think -someone- mentioned the  
horse. The (not so) compelling answer, later this chapter.

I can never bring myself to regularly space out chapters. I took forever to get  
out that last short chapter, and this uber-ly long one only took . . . ::counts  
fingers:: Actually, though, I'm writing this chapter listening to "I'll be home  
for Christmas." Now, I'm getting in a Christmas-y mood a few months in advance  
and am probably going to work on a mistletoe one-shot once I finish.

REVIEWS!!! YESSS! I love you all. And . . . and . . . and that's it . . . sniff. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Matthew didn't see that coming apparently, because my sloppy attack actually  
grazed him. Either that or I'd gotten better, but I doubted that.

My mind, although angered, went strangely into a clinically observant kind of  
state. I had learned to fight from Matthew -- not that he'd actualy MEANT to  
teach me, I'm sure, but the time I'd spent with him was constantly peppered with  
fights. That I lost. I had a lot of experience fighting him, but those facts had  
never helped me before.

Within a second, Matthew had taken a hold of my wrists and had me pinned to the  
wall.

Why, w-why? My mind screamed at me. Why the HELL hadn't I seen it BEFORE? Oh,  
now THAT'S right, because I was too busy trying to find his pant size than  
keeping him under suspicion . . .

No, I'd only just figured that out as well . . . but the point was, now that he  
was r-revealed as the S-SCUM he was I couldn't possibly still be attracted to  
him . . . could I?

Or . . . maybe, hope beyond hopes, I was wrong?

Think, think . . . I took in a deep breath. "Was it you?"

His eyes were shadowed by his bangs. Silence . . . speaks louder then words.

DAMN it . . .. I can't say I didn't k-know it, t-though . . .

Matthew had claimed inexperience with horses, and turned out to be a master (of  
sorts) of the creatures. He had also known what color and gender the stolen  
horse was when he couldn't have possibly known -- I had met with the clients,  
not he, he couldn't have possibly known that.

Legault's mention of 'playing along' -- he, as Matthew's friend, had been  
covering up for Matthew.

That ammonia smell, in his kitchen -- it was bleach, to dye the horse and  
disguise it until it could be sold, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

And the final hint -- That long coarse hair on Matthew's hat weren't from a lady  
friend (and for some reason at this my heart clenched), as he had just now told  
me, they were from the horse's tail. And they were that coarse blond . . .  
bleached.

But I didn't tell HIM all this. HE didn't have the right to know. I panted  
heavily, glaring up at him.

"You figured it out in only half a day . . ." Matthew looked at me in a sort of  
. . . wistful expression. What the hell?! His voice was odd, too, as he went on  
to add, "That's a record."

I wasn't sure how to reply to this -- since I had no idea what the heck he was  
talking about -- so I was VERY mature (not) and shot back with a defiant, "So?!"

Matthew did nothing but cock an eyebrow.

. . . Dammit, HOW could I be thinking of how sexy he was when he had me up  
against a st-stupid WALL in his APARTMENT . . . well, actually, pretty easily .  
. . ARGH, I was doing it a-again! Damn hormones! Growling, I -- ineffectively --  
glared at Matthew some more.

Matthew shook his head and let out a soft chuckle.

Chuckling? Wait, somewhat relaxed? An opening? Yes, an opening! I bolted into  
motion, tilting my shoulder and ramming it into his collarbone. Matthew gave,  
slightly, and I whirled to stuff my elbow into his stomach --

And my head cracked into the wall.

Hard.

For a second, my vision was completely black, save for a few odd flashings of  
light that seemed imbedded in the back of my eyelids. I felt my body distantly  
as it half collapsed, half slumped over towards the ground. Strong arms caught  
me before I hit the hardwood flooring.

I blearily blinked my eyes shut and then open again as a voice from above me  
asked urgently, "Guy? GUY! Are you alright?"

Think . . . think think think . . . that's right, I'm Guy . . . and . . . OW! Ow  
ow ow ow . . . n-no, I'm NOT alright! I'm in serious pain! I was actually  
beginning to register that I had almost, quite literally, knocked myself out,  
and that I probably had a concussion . . . or skull fracture . . . or something  
painful involving my aching head . . .

"Hurts. Ow . . . " I heard my voice mutter vaguely into sandalwood and mint  
scented clothes. I opened my eyes dimly once more. A hand firmly grasped my chin  
and lifted it, to see a blurry face looking at mine . . .

. . . Matthew . . .?

At that thought, my mind slammed into the present time. Matthew! T-that . . .  
that bastard! T-That low . . . insensitive . . . swindling . . . goddamned  
s-sexy bastard! No, w-wait . . . dammit. Not sexy, concentrate on Matthew N-NOT  
being sexy! The waves of pain that followed those pathetic thoughts -- thinking  
HURT -- served more then one purpose: it cleared my head and sharpened my anger.

It didn't do anything for my eloquence.

"Y-You . . . you!" I sputtered, glaring at him with all the animosity I could  
muster. Matthew just frowned -- or at least, I think he did. It was hard to  
tell, since my eyes refused to focus properly. He was kinda fuzzy around the  
edges . . . in any case, I don't think the glare was too helpful.

Matthew sighed, a motion I felt with strange clarity since Matthew was still  
holding me up . . . yummm . . . NO! C-can't think l-like that now! I shivered,  
and then began to struggle.

The knock I'd gotten on my head disagreed with that plan vehemently. Any  
movement at all sent it reeling in pain and -- my stomach flipped -- nausea.  
Dammit . . . it was a concussion, wasn't it . . .

Matthew pinned both my hands to the wall with one hand -- I HATE having thin  
wrists -- and began to run his hand over my hair. I flinched away from his touch  
at first -- yeah, I was having trust issues with him at the moment -- but before  
I could shout at him for it, I realized he was just checking my injury.

His free hand probed delicately around the area where I'd hit it. I almost let  
out a noise, but forced my reaction down to a hiss of an indrawn breath.  
His touch grew softer and even more tentative. "That," he muttered, "feels nasty  
. . . no blood, good . . . you didn't break the skin, luckily . . ."

I shuddered . . . Last time -- yes, there HAD been a last time, and no, it  
wasn't funny -- the doctor had wanted to cut my hair so he could bandage it up  
"properly." MY HAIR. You don't just CUT hair this frigging LONG, it's SACRILIGE!  
I, to put it politely, had 'strongly protested.' Matthew had needed to intervene  
on my behalf . . .

I growled. H-He was trying to get my mind off . . . on different things, wasn't  
he?! "W-Why would you c-care?" I rapped out in a part snarl, part wail, as I  
tested his hold on my wrists.

Matthew bolstered his grip with his other hand. Damn, I liked his other hand in  
my hair . . . I re-evaluated my position. My hands were pinned above my head by  
Matthew's hands, against his bedroom wall, faces barely a few inches away, and  
he could probably feel my angry panting breath on his face. The traitorous part  
of my mind wondered if it still smelled like coffee, and was also trying to  
remember if Matthew really liked coffee all that much.

Matthew was grinning, I just know it.

I might have enjoyed this position, had it occurred BEFORE I found out that  
Matthew was a scummy, backstabbing horse thief. I saw Matthew's eyes dilate  
slighty before he closed them for a moment, as if in thought. "Ok, look, Guy, if  
you'll just let me explain . . . "

"Why the hell would I do that?" I snapped, my head aching at the angry toss I  
gave it. What? I'd gotten a sentence out without stuttering? "You already  
c-confessed! I'm a w-witness!" Pity it hadn't lasted long.

And his response to that was to once more grab my wrists in one hand, and as if  
I weighed absolutely nothing at all, pick me up.

The traitorous side of my mind was having a field day at this. What with, you  
know, the actually being that close to his muscles and all. The rest of my mind  
wasn't sure whether to be outraged or to just join the party on the traitorous  
half's side. Damn my duplicity.

My -- eventual -- attempt at struggling was punctuated by three things -- pain,  
cursing, and utter futility. "Y-You cheating . . . miserable little . . . " I  
wriggled in his tight grip. Okay, okay, so maybe he wasn't so little . . .  
"P-Put me down and f-fight fair!"

"Guy," Matthew said cheerfully. "Your eyes aren't even focusing right. I would  
hardly call it a fair fight." Was he . . . grinning? ARGH!

I growled, knowing he was right and trying to hate him for it. I failed  
miserably, and finally began to relax. After all, I had to conserve strength for  
when I could actually see him as something beyond a blurry mass of . . .  
something.

I guess Matthew was waiting for this, because once I relaxed my muscles and  
began to sink into him -- y-yes, I was enjoying it! -- Matthew took a deep,  
shuddering breath and put me down. My head swam at the sudden weight shift as I  
was placed back on my feet. I, unfortunately, couldn't use this to my advantage  
since he pinned me to the wall in the same move.

I found myself meeting a very blurry -- I tried to focus on him, but he was  
slipping in and out of clarity -- set of Matthew's eyes. "Guy," he ground out,  
"You're hurt, I'm not fighting you when you're like this. Now, can you please  
promise me you won't do anything stupid if I let you go?"

I, once more, glared. My eyes still refused to focus though, so I tried to keep  
them trained on one spot to hide the dilating. It didn't work.

Matthew inhaled slowly, a movement that brought his chest brushing against mine  
for a brief moment. Before I could bite it back, a low, keening sort of sound  
escaped my lips.

We both froze, and my eyes chose that moment to function properly. I got a very  
close look at the strangled, flushed expression Matthew was sddenly wearing. He  
blinked at me intensely before shaking his head to clear it.

Oh . . . oh god, I did NOT just moan.

Matthew leaned in closely and I bit my tongue -- literally, yeah, and it hurt --  
to prevent another slip-up. Screw up . . . whatever . . .

Matthew muttered lowly, " . . .Sorry." Evil, evil, evl grin.

I was about to either ask what for or to tell him he should be when the closet  
door shut near my nose.

With me, in the closet.

WHAT?! I yelped, and beat my fists on the door "M-MATTHEW!" I tried the doorknob  
frantically . . . locked . . . damn . . . I slipped my hand to my hip to pull  
out my pocketknife.

I clenched my eyes shut and began to swear as I realized. My knife! Why hadn't I  
gone for it before? Could . . . could I even bring myself to pull steel on  
Matthew?

I handled my knife carefully in the dark and tapped it against the lock  
delicately. I never did let Matthew teach me how to pick those things . . . I  
settled for taking out my anger on Matthew's door. With my knife. The grinding  
sound my blade was making in his wood did quite a bit for my morale, actually.

Matthew made a small noise outside the door. " . . . Guy, what are you doing?"

"N-None of your business!" Actually, it was his business, since it was his door  
I was mauling and all that jazz, but like I was going to waste my breath telling  
him that. He could figure that out himself.

I heard my captor sigh, sounding defeated. " . . . I'm going to make a phone  
call."

I didn't deign to give him a response, but increased my efforts at mauling his  
closet door.

It took a few more minutes of industrially carving random symbols into the wood  
for me to realize that it was pointless, and that spite would get me nowhere.  
I'd learned that lesson from Matthew too, but it did have a bit of merit . . . I  
sheathed my knife, and with careful attention to my head, slumped down into a  
sitting position.

And I sulked. I had REASON to, dammit. I was sitting on the hardwood floor of  
Matthew's closet, with a splitting headache and an upset stomach. I hadn't eaten  
anything but coffee that day either, so I was hungry. And that closet was pretty  
hot, and stuffy. . .

This is the worst day of my life. The worst ever.

Not to mention, of course, I'm STILL weirdly infatuated with the one man whom  
I'd normally be happy to see shoved off a ravine with the goddamn llamas . . .  
lemmings . . . whatever.

I could hear Matthew if I concentrated really hard. . . "Hello, operator," his  
smooth voice filtered through the thin door, "I'd like to speak with . . ."

AGH! He had m-me locked in his c-closet and h-he was making a ph-phone call!!  
Er, well . . . no, I wasn't shocked, since he'd told me he would . . . but, but  
. . . it was an i-insult, I say!!

Ugh . . . probably calling Legault, to arrange an 'accident' for me or something  
. . . I could see it in the reports now . . . "Sacaen Detective Accidentally  
Kills Self To Death. Accidentally." They wouldn't even have to do much. They  
just had to whap at my head some more, since it was about to split open anyway.

It hurt to think . . . I fell into a sort of half stupor, struggling not to fall  
asleep.

Concussion victims generally had a tendency not to wake up if they fell asleep.  
I knew this because, last time I'd gotten a bump on the head, Matthew had --  
illegally! -- BROKEN INTO my old apartment to make sure I was aware of that  
little fact. At one AM. On THURSDAY. (Actually, it being a Thursday was  
completely unimportant, but still!)

Matthew's door being pounded on snapped me out of my half doze. Mainly because  
it caused my head to throb severely; forcing me to stifle a creative curse.  
Apparently I didn't stifle it very well, because I heard Matthew whistle in  
appreciation at my word choice.

Nooo, no no no, Guy. You AREN'T supposed to feel warm fuzzies because Matthew  
appreciates something of yours! And that's really pathetic when it's your foul  
language that's in question!

I began to haul myself into a standing position. There was NO way I'd meet my  
inevitable doom -- or whatever or whoever I was about to meet -- while sitting  
on the floor. I did like to think I had some dignity. Even though the  
aforementioned dignity caused my head to hurt unspeakably.

I reached for the edge of the doorframe -- lit by a rim of light in the dark  
closet -- to steady myself.

The door opened, and the unexpected light, along with the blood rushing from my  
head, caused me to miss the side of the door frame and fall out into the outer  
room. Damn, I HATE being injured . . . it fogs the senses . . . s'all Matthew's  
fault . . . grrr . . . bastard . . .

Once again (damn him!) Matthew caught me, and this time I was conscious enough  
-- and not blinded as much by temper -- to notice how gentle he was about it. As  
my eyes adjusted, I blinked at Matthew in confusion before remembering that A)  
while he might be gentle, it meant NOTHING, B) he wasn't trustworthy, and thusly  
C) I really should be preparing for a sucker-punch, or whatever he'd throw at  
me.

I jerked out of his arms -- That annoying corner of my mind complained loudly at  
this. I hushed it. -- as quickly as my concussion would let me, scowling at him.

" . . . he does not trust you."

I froze. Oh, flux it. I did NOT just hear that. I did NOT recognize that voice  
to be who I thought it was. I turned, very slowly. The slow part was more due to  
my aching head then for any dramatics, really, but it was still a nice effect.

Oh, shit. Rath was standing to the right of Matthew, his arms loosely crossed,  
his demeanor normal and stoic.

" . . . Er . . . C-Commissioner?" I blinked. "N-No, impossible . . ."

It wasn't . . .. I-It w-wasn't r-really . . . "I'm delusional, from the  
c-concussion . . ." I swallowed, knowing I was about to babble out something  
incredibly stupid if I continued.

" . . . concussion?" Rath -- RATH!!! He was there, in the flesh, standing there!  
-- blinked disapprovingly at Matthew.

Matthew shrugged. "I wasn't me, he hit his head on the wall."

WHAT? Well, it was true, but . . . but . . ..

"I-It was H-HIS fault!" I seethed . . . and then I felt my eyes widen as I  
remembered. My hands waved spastically through the air as I began to babble  
myself into a hole. "Commissioner! He did it! It w-was him, it was Matthew, he  
stole the horse and--"

Matthew coughed lightly. "Actually, no I didn't." Rath nodded agreement, slowly.

I scowled. Had Matthew already told his side of the story? "No, I'm telling the  
truth! He admitted it!" I protested. "I swear!"

Rath's eyebrow's furrowed slightly. " . . . Let Mr. Ostia explain."

I frowned, but reluctantly nodded obeisance. Matthew shook his head. "Finally .  
. . listen, Guy, I didn't steal the horse. In fact? That horse was never  
stolen."

Er . . . " . . . What?"

"The good Commissioner Rath here," Matthew spoke slowly, looking me in the eyes,  
"hires me to test his detectives, from time to time . . ." Test? Hired? With a  
pause, he chuckled wryly. "If I'm not mistaken, you've broken a record. No one  
else has ever solved my case so fast . . ."

Tests . . . Matthew hadn't done . . . Matthew was hired -- HIRED! -- to test me.  
I looked at him, then at Rath for affirmation. He nodded silently.

Of course. Matthew . . . he'd never have been that sloppy, even if he was a  
horse-thief. He's a detective by trade, he'd know what signs to look for, and  
what signs to hide. And why would Matthew steal a horse? That alone should have  
tipped me off to the whole thing . . . I blame it on the concussion.

I tried to shake my head. "B-But . . ." My mind was scrambled, you need to  
remember, but I'm sure I looked as bewildered as I felt. "Wil said the Cornwells  
were important, and . . ."

Rath visibly perked at the mention of Wil. Curious, that.

"The secretary?" Matthew looked at the ceiling warily. "The Cornwells work with  
us on these, in return for some help we gave them a few years back. He would  
know that, I guess."

I blinked. Matthew's eyes flickered, and my fading consciousness didn't protest  
as he put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. "I knew I would be  
working with you, Guy. But I didn't go any easier -- or harder -- on you because  
of it."

I looked down. Matthew had actually been hired . . . to TEST me, of all things .  
. . It hurt a lot more then it should have, to know that Matthew had been paid  
to do . . . everything . . . even more then the fact that the commissioner had  
felt the need to test my skills. I wasn't that bad, really . . ..

My adrenaline began to slowly seep out of my system -- I don' know how it had  
kept running in the closet -- and I shook my head slowly, hoping the pain would  
wake me back up. I didn't.

"Oh . . ." I muttered . . .. That was so . . . damn . . . anticlimactic. It felt  
odd, solving a case and not being able to shove someone into a jail cell  
directly after. . .

The last drop of aggression plopped from my system, and I sagged against the  
wall. Whatever pain-numbing hormones my body had given me were long worn off,  
and at the answering throb my head gave me, I merely clutched at my bangs and  
muttered, "Ow."

I heard Rath move behind me. " . . . You need to rest."

I winced, but carefully straightened, trying to force the illusion of awareness  
into my voice. " . . . No . . . No, I'm . . ." Well, saying I was fine would be  
a lie . . . "I'm still able to work." Barely. "We can go back to the office."

Rath nodded understandingly and began to leave. I almost followed. Almost.  
"Commissioner, give me a minute, I'll be right there," I said quietly, giving  
Matthew a sidelong glance. Matthew's eyebrows furrowed together before he tilted  
his head cockily.

"Can't bear to leave me, hm?" he said in an equally quiet voice, adding a small  
chuckle. I rolled my eyes to cover he fact that . . . well . . . that statement  
just might be true. I heard the door clicking shut behind me as Rath left to  
wait outside.

I blinked at Matthew, and he stared back. I found myself unexplainably (yeah,  
right) blushing, and I looked to the floor. "Uh . . . Sorry . . ."

I heard Matthew's clothes rustle as he shifted closer. "For what? I did my job .  
. . you did yours."

I looked up at him pointedly. "I did ruin your door."

"Oh." Matthew gave the door in question a passing glance before a wry smirk  
quirked up his lips. "Well, you can just owe me a few . . . favors, for that."

I wrinkled my nose. It'd taken me over a year to work off the last few favors  
I'd owed Matthew . . . but I didn't seem to mind it as much this time. He held  
out his hand to shake on it, and what with me being extremely stupid, I took it.  
And barely stifled a gasp.

The contact sent thrills up my arm, his skin rubbing mine slightly as my hand  
slid into his. I felt him squeeze my palm, the pressure completely killing any  
sense I might have had left -- and I looked up into his eyes.

My breath caught . . . Matthew was smiling at me. Smiling. It was a slow, sad  
sort of smile, as if he'd given up something, but it was a smile. Matthew was  
actually smiling at me, not grinning his cocky know-it-all grin.

We both let go at the same time.

And then I realized that not once, not ONCE had I ever seen Matthew use his  
infuriating, fiendish, horribly lust-inspiring grin on anyone but . . . well . .  
. me. My chest clenched, and I turned away. Forcing my brain to work, but it  
seemed to run suddenly on autopilot, as if I were a distant observer of my own  
body.

"Good-bye, Matthew."

"Good . . . luck, Guy."

The commissioner was waiting outside Matthew's apartment door. I leaned heavily  
on Rath's shoulder -- which is harder to do then it sounds, the commissioner is  
TALL -- as we left, trying to hide my exhaustion as much as possible . . . don't  
think it worked too well.

Strange thing, though . . . I felt something in my chest contract, as though I'd  
left something behind in that apartment. Something unexplainably important, that  
I'd be better off going back to get . . . but I was too tired to go back . . .

Well . . . Whatever I'd left . . .

Matthew could have it.

I didn't look back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Angst-ish . . . I hope. That's my attempt at angst, if you couldn't tell. The  
mystery is solved, but the fic is not yet complete! Next chapter is the last one  
. . . I'm already tearing up, this fic is my baby . . . I'm rather attached.  
Hmph. So sue me.

. . . On second thought, don't. Sue me, I mean. Don't sue me.

(And the reason that Guy isn't going to the hospital, or even going home? Back  
then, there was this serious bout of 'macho-ism' going around, where all men  
were stupid and egotistic and went to work even when deathly sick. Men can be  
such idiots, no offense to my guy readers.)

( . . . Do I HAVE any guy readers? . . . Hm.)


	7. 6:15 pm

Ugh . . . first, I'd like to point out that the ONLY reason I took so long on this chapter is because my  
house was hit by Hurricane Frances and I lost power for a week. No power. For a WEEEEK. The  
pain . . . it still hurts . . . So yeah, don't blame me! Hmph.

That, and I have to send my thank yous to R Amythest and Scarabsi. For listening to my constant  
rants on pretty much nothing at all. And for getting on my butt about the little stuff, and bolstering my  
ego to unhealthy sizes. Heh.

I'm going to skip the obligatory last-chapter "I enjoyed writing this blah blah blah" speech and get to  
the action now. It IS sort of short, but then, most of the chapter is a single incredibly fluffy scene. And  
it is, if I can brag slightly, the best scene of it's type I think I've ever written. I've stretched myself on  
this one . . . I think . . . I think this chapter has everything that a fic needs for a happy ending, but  
unfortunately for you guys, it's not enough of a happy ending to up the rating to R . . . heheee . . .

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Throb.

Ow.

Tap.

I tapped my pencil on my desk thoughtfully, in beat with the throbbing in my head. Throb. Ow. Tap  
. Throb. Ow. Tap. The fact that the tapping was a continuous staccato didn't escape me, but at least  
the throbbing wasn't as intense as it'd been earlier.

Wonder what Matthew was doing . . . it was past six . . . maybe he was napping . . . on that big, soft  
bed of his . . . mmm . . .

Why did I c-care about THAT?

I looked around at my file cabinet. Wil had just organized it for me last week, but the problem with  
that was that his 'organization' was in some incomprehensible method of color-coding and the client's  
date of birth. I'd have to fix that . . . Matthew hadn't bothered to organize his old files, since he said  
that they were already finished, so why bother?

I scowled at the wall blankly. Why was Matthew always popping up in my head? I'd just seen him an  
hour ago. I'd not seen him before that for over two years. W-Why was I . . .

I forced my self to think of something different . . . like . . . Wo Dao. My cat was a safe subject, a  
stray tomcat and at times my closest friend. Sad, I know. Although, it was odd how Matthew had  
known about him when I'd gotten him after I'd left Matthew's employment . . .

. . . Matthew . . . I sighed. I almost sorta wished he . . . was . . .

My head jerked up suddenly (Ow.)

I-I was MISSING him. W-What's with that? Yes, I did want his body, unfortunately for me, but that  
didn't give me a reason to actually MISS him. His grin, his infuriating perky outlook, his . . . his HAIR  
. . . How could I miss his hair? It was a regular honey blond, and messy to boot . . . probably soft too  
. . ..

I almost banged my head on the desk, to reprimand myself for my train of thought, but that'd probably  
knock me unconscious. While my head wasn't hurting as much, it still hurt. N-Nothing I couldn't  
handle, of course, but . . .

Wonder what Matthew'd do if he were here. Probably drag me out of here and force me to go home,  
if only so he could make me come to work on the weekend. Just to tick me off. And he'd be grinning  
at me the whole time . . .

My head throbbed quietly.

Ow, tap.

This was ridiculous. I wasn't capable of taking any more cases like this, not today, anyway. D-damn  
Matthew! It was all his fault! Maybe I should just say I wasn't feeling too good and ask for the day off  
. . . I mean, that was the truth. I wasn't feeling good at all. My head was about to split open . . . but  
while I'd worked under pain of . . . well, pain before, this was pretty bad.

I slung my jacket over my shoulders. It sucked. Seriously. I didn't even bother trying to stand up  
straight as I headed to Rath's office, letting my shoulders slump forward in an uncharacteristic  
weariness. I also didn't bother knocking.

Big mistake.

I opened his office door sullenly, beginning my explanation wearily. "Commissioner, I'm not feeling too  
great, I was wonder--" I paused, and blinked.

Well, I thought as my blush rose considerably, next time I'd most d-definitely knock. It seemed I'd  
caught Rath at an, ah, inopportune moment.

He was jerking his head up from its previous position . . . which incidentally happened to be on Wil's  
neck. Wil was sandwiched between Rath and wall of plaques, which may or may not have been all  
that comfortable, but he didn't seem to mind if you took into account the fact that his arms were  
loosely linked around the other man's neck.

Even caught in that position, Rath looked as patient as usual, if you discounted the spastic twitching at  
his temple. The secretary, who was blinking blearily in . . . shock recovery, looked a cross between  
bewildered, dizzy, and embarrassed.

I slammed the door shut behind me as quickly as I could, peeking through the blinds to make sure no  
one had seen that . . . particular display. No one seemed to even be there. "S-Sorry, Rath," I  
apologized hurriedly, avoiding eye contact, "Er . . . you too, Wil . . . I don't think anyone else saw,  
though, you guys are in the clear . . ."

H-How w-was I supposed to know w-what they were doing? C-Couldn't they put a s-sign on the  
door or something?!

"Wil, you told me that the office was empty."

Rath? Speaking in total sentences, without ellipses anywhere in sight? What was wrong with this  
picture? I thought about that. Considering the sight I'd walked in on a few moments ago, there was  
considerably more things wrong in this office then I could possibly pinpoint.

Wil winced visibly, mumbling. "Er, it was . . . but, but that was awhile ago, right? We've, uh, been in  
here for a while, and it's kind of easy to lose track of time when you've got your hands full of--"

I coughed. Loudly. I really, really didn't want to hear Wil finish that sentence. At least he took the hint.  
"Oh . . . right, well, that and I figured that Guy'd be getting harassed by that Ostia guy again, since he  
came to pick up his royalties about fifteen minutes a--"

"Say what?!" I snapped up, ignoring the pain that shot through my head at that. Matthew? Here? N-  
Not that I was HAPPY to hear he was here . . . w-what's with the incredulous looks? . . . Dammit,  
fine, OK, I was. Wil tilted his head and, after processing his words, flushed.

"Ooops . . . I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?" He winced lightly. "Sorry, Rath, I really didn't  
mean to, and I REALLY promise it won't --" I cut him off before he got too warmed up. Wil'd just  
end up rambling at me for the whole evening, and I didn't think my head could cope with that.

"Where is he? Matthew, I mean;" I snapped out hurriedly, edging out towards the door, "where's  
Matthew?"

Rath shook his head. " . . . Detective," he began slowly, staring at me. I snapped to attention  
instinctively. My boss stared at me in an imperceptive way for a minute, before shaking his head in a  
kind of defeat; " . . . be discreet. Take the rest of the day off."

I nodded, my flush beginning to fade. "Thanks, chief," I muttered as I sidled out the door as quickly as  
possible.

The office really was pretty much empty, thank god, or I'd have looked really stupid, dashing through  
the stairwells like a crazed lunatic . . . or maybe like Karel . . . or maybe like both, there wasn't much  
of a difference between the two . . .

I slammed myself into the door, forcing it open. The dusk light was still bright enough to force me to  
shield my eyes with my arm while they got used to the light change. The warm golden light cast an odd  
glow over the normal grays and blacks of the city, but a hint of familiar color caught my eye . . .

I blurted out his name desperately, as he raised an arm to hail a taxi. "M-Matthew!"

He turned, and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of me. There he was, but . . . something was  
wrong. "Hello, Guy."

I slowed to a stop beside him, frowning . . . something wasn't right with Matthew. He looked so . . .  
"Hey," I resisted the urge to poke him. "Why are you looking so guilty?"

Matthew tilted his head, and I remembered what Wil had said. He wasn't supposed to tell me that  
Matthew was here. Under whose orders? . . . Matthew's? " . . . Are . . . " That possibility . . . it hurt.  
"A-Are you av-voiding me?"

The investigator looked at me with a quirk in his eye. "No. Why would I avoid you?"

"Oh . . . " Something was really off. Matthew . . . it hit me. He wasn't grinning. Yes, there was a small  
smile on his face, but there was no trace of the grin that I knew Matthew best for. No trace at all.

It was as though I was a complete stranger to him all the sudden . . . I . . . w-what . . . Why was  
Matthew being so . . . distant . . .?

"I was just leaving," his voice cut into my thoughts, and he gave me a long look. A hint of the normal  
Mathew showed through at that . . . It was a longer look then necessary, as though he felt the need to  
memorize my features for some reason. "It was . . . " his eyes flicked in some strange emotion, " . . .  
nice seeing you again, Guy."

"Right . . ." I answered softly, slightly perturbed. Why wasn't Matthew grinning? Was something  
wrong? Would he want to talk about it? Why would I want to talk to MATTHEW? WHY was he  
WALKING AWAY?

"W-WAIT!" I yelped, jogging up next to him and halting his brisk walk. My brain officially shut down  
at that point. My head even stopped hurting, I swear it. I still can't believe I'm responsible for my  
following actions.

"Guy?" Matthew had no idea what was going through my head, and I wasn't really paying attention to  
what he was saying, actually. "Do you need to -- "

"O-One second!" I breathed, cutting him off before he interrupted my frantic train of thought, "I-I'm  
trying to figure out . . . " I glanced around the street . . . there; a small entryway, leading to an alley.  
Perfect.

I latched my hand around his wrist and tugged at it in a gesture to follow. While Matthew may have  
had enough physical strength to drag me around, I didn't have enough to do the same for Matthew.  
Luckily, Matthew followed with only an amused, slightly startled query.

"Um, Guy?"

The narrow space wasn't as dark as I expected it to be. The setting sun was visible over the other end  
of the alleyway, and cast a warm glow over Matthew's face, highlighting his hair and skin with reds  
and golds.

I noticed that so acutely, my mouth just began to run on it's own. "Matthew, I . . . I don't act like it . .  
. m-most of the time, but I . . . " W-What was I trying to say? " . . . I really do . . . like you." Whew.  
I thought I might say something a bit more . . . parallel to the truth, using more descriptive adjectives  
and terms not fit for normal speech. "O-Ok?"

Matthew gave me an odd look, one that even I couldn't interpret. That startled me, since I was pretty  
good at reading Matthew. But then . . . he was acting strange . . . why . . .? " . . . Guy, the way you  
act, you don't like me at all."

"But I do!" My blurted words were automatic, and Matthew frowned in thought. Why, w-why didn't I  
think that was a good sign?! "I just . . . i-it's j-just that . . . " I heard my voice beginning to babble,  
with an even worse stutter the normal. It took effort to shut my mouth.

Matthew blinked at me, and I winced, looking at the floor, trying not to meet his eyes. "C-Could you  
just . . . bend down a little?" I whispered, a little self-consciously.

There was the slightest whisper of cloth as he did so, and my flush deepened considerably as he  
stopped at what just HAPPENED TO BE the perfect height. Gah . . . the p-pervert probably k-knew  
what I was going to d-do. . .

"Guy, why am I doing this?" Or maybe he didn't, because even Matthew can't fake that sort of  
cluelessness in his voice. And yes, he can fake many, many things, so I know.

I found myself mumbling out the answer without meaning to. Damn my recklessly honest mouth.  
"Because you're too tall otherwise for me to . . ."

My strangled voice drifted off, and my eyes jerked up to meet his. Matthew's head tilted, and a  
certain shock of realization passed briefly over his features. He swallowed, and then whispered softly,  
"I'm too tall . . . to what?"

. . . There was no way in hell I'd answer that. Better to show then tell . . .

Matthew had taught me that . . .

Grabbing his shoulders to keep him still, I did hesitate . . . but shutting my eyes determinedly, I leaned  
forward . . .

. . . And put my mouth directly over his.

His lips weren't completely smooth: they were slightly chapped from the wind and sun. It gave them  
an odd texture, and if I tilted my head . . . just . . . so . . . they moved against my own in a way that  
sent chills up my spine, and caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up and shiver.

I don't really think it was much of a kiss, to be truthful . . . I'm not an expert at that sort of thing, sorry.  
But . . . but it was warm, and it tasted of mint and spice, and it was Matthew that I was kissing, so . .  
. when I finally pulled back, I really didn't want to.

I stumbled back a step when I released him, almost giving him a small shove away.

He looked at me in a way that I couldn't even begin to describe. It was a mix of so many emotions  
that, for the second time in the past few minutes, I couldn't read Matthew's face. That . . . hurt, for  
some reason. It shouldn't have hurt me, but it did.

I looked up at him nervously, head tilted slightly towards the ground, feeling awkward for not having  
anything to do with my hands. I found that I licked my lips slowly enough, I could still taste Matthew  
on my lips . . . I almost missed it when Matthew's eyes followed my tongue is it traveled around my  
mouth.

Was that hope I read in his eyes . . .?

And it was then . . .

. . . that Matthew grinned.

His crafty, sly, fiendish, damn-I'm-tasty-and-I-know-it grin. The cocky eyebrows, the pearly teeth . .  
. My heart leapt within my chest, probably displacing several other key organs in the process, as it  
was made official -- the Matthew I knew and loved best was back.

I felt my lips curling up into a tiny smile of their own --

-- and it was about then that my brain kicked into gear, bringing to my attention a very, very important  
fact: namely, that I had just done a very, very stupid thing. Oh, god . . I-I . . . I HADN'T . . . I hadn't  
j-just . . . I'd . . .

I'd kissed him. I'd kissed Matthew, and now, I was dead.

Slipping into panic mode, I swiveled on my heel, both to hide my blush and to prepare to march  
myself right out that alley and off the nearest cliff. My braid swung around with me from the  
momentum of my turn, and flopped over my shoulder to rest beside my collarbone.

I took one step forward, and didn't get very far beyond that. Before I could lift my foot again, I was  
lurched back slightly as a set of arms wrapped around me from behind. The sudden stiffness in my  
shoulders was my body instinctively remembering every martial arts move that began with that  
movement.

I-It wasn't m-my fault I swear! M-Matthew was just B-BEGGING for that k-kiss! He was too  
goddamn sexy for his own good, I swear it! It was all H-HIS fault! And Matthew was going to  
SLAUGHTER me for it, I just knew it . . .

. . . So why didn't he stop playing with my hair and get on with the, you know, slaughtering?  
Dismemberment, decapitation, etc., etc.?

No, seriously. W-Why was he playing with my braid? He casually fingered the plait, his breath on my  
ear. His arms were around me, pinning my arms to my sides, his front to my back, fiddling with the tie  
to my hair.

That wasn't, the last time I checked, in any combat trick I knew. I let my shoulders relax, slightly. I  
even managed not to flinch when he tugged my hair loose and it began to fall out of its plait. I did sort  
of wince, however, at the thought of my hair down at a time like this . . ..

My inner protests were cut short when he ran his hand through my hair. Oh god . . . the light scrape of  
his nails running over my scalp was enough to force me to bite back a soft moan . . . mmm . . . why  
didn't I let him play with my hair before . . .

"Guy," Matthew's voice purred, the low and strangely smooth timbre shooting straight through my  
ears to the rest of me, "What were you just doing?"

The blatant truth spilled out, since my brain was occupied with too many . . . other . . .things, to be  
thinking properly. " . . . Kissing you." My voice was low as well, and my stutter was . . . gone. That  
didn't really register at the moment, though.

"Why?"

Did I have to answer that? I leaned my head into his hand, and he replied by increasing pressure on  
those lightly scraping, maddening touches . . .. This time I did let out a low sound, barely realizing it.

"Is it . . ." I took in a breath as his clever fingers did something to my ear, " . . . too late to take it  
back?" D-Dammit . . . that didn't come out the way I intended . . .

"Guy . . . " Matthew's voice sounded almost pained, and to my severe disappointment, he moved his  
hands to turn me around. I leaned in towards him, even as his gentle grip forced me to stare up at him  
with glazed eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, and for once, I didn't have the slightest inclination to disobey.  
My gaze was glued to his mysteriously darkened amber eyes, his suddenly pout-y lips, the mild flush  
across his cheeks . . .. Oh, god . . .

He leaned in, and the wind from his whisper ghosted across my heated skin. His husky voice got ever  
closer . . . "It's far, far too late . . . " . . . and his lips met mine.

It was different then the kiss I gave him. His hand, running through my hair easily at first, held me in  
place, so I couldn't pull back if I wanted to. I hesitantly put my arms around his neck, instinctively  
pulling him closer. His lips began to move against mine, and I mimicked his movements thoughtlessly.

His other hand played down my back, running through my hair to the very ends, before slipping  
around my waist and up my arm. His tongue darted out to flick the rim of my mouth, and I opened it  
with a tiny gasp. It faintly registered that I was moaning as he tasted the sides of my tongue, the rim of  
my inner cheeks, the roof of my mouth before tangling with my tongue again. I responded, pressing  
against him as best I could.

Unable to figure what I was supposed to do with my hands, I frantically moved them around as much  
as possible -- over his chest, his neck, his back, anything I could reach. Matthew gave a soft groan  
when I flicked my hands up the front of his shirt, so I did it again, digging in slightly with my nails.

His lips separated from my mouth and began working their way down my jaw line. I tilted my head  
back, giving him easier access . . . oh god, what he was doing right . . . there . . . my heart raced, and  
he could probably feel it, considering he was almost biting down on my pulse.

I couldn't do much but grab fistfuls of the back of his coat and cling for all I was worth. I bit back a  
strangled yell, but it came out anyway, as a hoarse whisper, "M-Matthew . . ."

The reply was wordless, as he attacked the juncture between neck and shoulder with teeth and  
tongue and . . . "We should . . . " he raised his mouth from my neck long enough to growl out half a  
sentence, but had to replace it for a few moments before he went on, "We should continue this in my  
apartment . . . "

My body liberally thrummed at what he was insinuating, and I arched my back into him, trying to find  
words for a reply. I don't think I needed to, with my . . . positive reaction, but still . . .. I felt a  
deliciously wanton shudder slide down my back as I gasped out in return, " . . . m-mine's closer . . . "

And . . . well, what happened after that . . . beyond the dash for a taxi, no doubt traumatizing the  
cabby, and the mindless wrestling match with my keys . . .

Isn't all that much of a mystery.

You can figure it out.

Case . . . closed.

-o-

-o-

-o-

ore wa owari

-o-

-o-

-o-


End file.
